


then i wake (im lost looking for you)

by coffeepot418



Series: we live today [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cults, Dubious Ethics, Fae & Fairies, Ghosts, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Mystery, Sirens, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, and morality, background seongjoong - Freeform, kind of, lil dash of angst, other idol cameos, san is tiredt of the drama, someone get these idiots a therapist, very temporary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 119,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeepot418/pseuds/coffeepot418
Summary: “What good is being haunted if your ghost is absolutely useless,” San grumbles. The wind that ruffles his hair feels mocking.(San's family has always been a little weird about Haven. Now that they can't breathe down his neck, it's time he finds out why.)
Relationships: Choi Jongho & Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Kang Yeosang
Series: we live today [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998508
Comments: 82
Kudos: 124





	1. san

**Author's Note:**

> title from inception
> 
> hi!!! this is, like,,,,, my baby. i spent more time writing this more than i spend on my ai and cybersecurity assignments combined lol so thanks for validating my (horrible) time management decisions by reading it
> 
> GIANT thank you to my best friend for reading this first and giving me feedback ily uwu 
> 
> CW: there isn’t stockholm syndrome but there is savior? syndrome? it’s a little sketchy but they will explicitly address and deal with it at some point, and the actual romance bit doesn’t happen until then. One of the characters is a ghost but the death happened pre-story—the circumstances are brought up though. Some semi-graphic descriptions of blood. Someone spends a while inhumanely imprisoned (he gets out soon). ill give more specific cw for each chapter
> 
> A Note On Fae:  
> 1\. never thank a faerie. it implies you’re in their debt, and they *will* collect.  
> 2\. never stand in a faerie ring. weird things happen inside.  
> 3\. names hold power. if you give a faerie your name you’re giving them power over you. use a nickname or something, even if its embarrassing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw mentions of non-fatal shark attack

His ears are ringing. 

San groans. His head aches. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. 

“Idiot,” someone says. “You know better than this.”

Strong arms wrap around his torso, bodily dragging him through the dirt. Jongho? But he’s…?

“So are you,” Jongho says. “Come on. One more time. It can’t end like this.”

But San’s so tired. So, so tired. So what if it ends like this? Does it even matter?

“You’d leave them to fend for themselves?” Jongho asks, and his fingernails dig into San’s arm. He squirms, trying to push him off, but Jongho’s strong. Jongho’s always been strong. “Don’t be a coward.”

“This is the seventh time,” San rasps. “It didn’t work the first seven times, it’s not gonna work the eighth.”

“Eight’s the magic number,” Jongho says stubbornly. “One more time. Please, San. I’ve been waiting for _years,_ I can’t wait any longer.”

San knows what his answer will be before Jongho finishes talking. He closes his eyes, too tired to look at the world. Too tired to face Jongho when he knows this try will fail, just as the last seven did. 

“Okay,” San says. Jongho relaxes, buries his face in San’s shoulder and exhales shaky. They let the hug go on for too long, knowing neither of them will get this again any time soon. It hurts to tear himself away, but San does it anyway because he knows if he leaves it up to Jongho neither of them will ever let go. “Okay,” he repeats. “Ready?”

His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His head aches. San groans.

His ears are ringing. 

_Greyscale. Fades. Blue. Peach. Red. Fingernails. Words._

_What does he know?_

_The book. The store._

_Find Yeosang._

_FIND YEOSANG._

* * *

San wakes up in a taxi. It takes him a moment to get a bearing on his surroundings, and he just about leaps into the air when he’s addressed. 

“What brings you to Haven?” 

The rain comes down hard on the windshield, hard enough that the wipers can barely keep up. San blinks up at them, then at the driver. “Uh,” he says. “Family stuff.”

The driver tsks. “Family’s always a fun reason to travel.”

San laughs drily. “Sure is.”

He’s going to Haven. Why did he forget that? He’s going to Haven to figure out why his family’s property in Haven was so important to his parents. He’d arranged to spend two weeks there, hoping it wouldn’t take longer than that. His sister’s with his lawyer, Taehyung, and he’s prepared to go no contact for the duration of his trip. Haven’s off-grid. No internet, no phone signal. 

It feels like the setup of a horror movie. San hopes they’re just particularly Amish, no Midsommer-esque ritual sacrifice involved. 

His family’s always been weird about Haven. Something about family traditions, or initiation into their family cult. San never really paid attention. He does know, though, that he’s more than likely already been initiated, given they’ve made the trip with him once. He doesn’t remember any of it, which is concerning, but hopefully something on the property, or someone in the town, will tell him what the hell kind of “initiation” they made him do. 

_Mrow._

San smiles down at the cat observation bubble in his backpack. “Hey,” he says quietly. Byeol blinks up at him balefully. She never liked cars, San recalls. 

“Almost there,” the driver tells him. “How’s kitty doing?”

“She’ll be okay,” San says. He pats the bubble.

Byeol just glares. 

* * *

The gates are rusted shut, so San’s left with his suitcase and his backpack, staring up at the wrought iron as the taxi peels away. The driver had gotten more and more nervous the further they’d driven into Haven, to the point where he didn’t even offer to help with the bags, too eager to get away. San doesn’t blame him. It’s a little eerie. 

He has a key, but it won’t do him much good here. “Hey,” he says, addressing the air and probably looking a little bit like he’s lost it. “Give me a lift?”

A leaf blows into his face. San bats it away. “Really? How else am I supposed to get in?” The vines on the gate rustle. San sighs. “You’re gonna make me climb?” A gust of air like a huff whips up dirt by his feet. 

Yeah, he’s gonna make him climb. 

“What good is being haunted if your ghost is absolutely useless,” San grumbles. He tosses his suitcase over first, because it’ll survive the drop, and shoulders his cat backpack. The wind that ruffles his hair feels mocking. 

He’s joking, mostly. He knows the ghost tries his best. 

He doesn’t remember a time living without the ghost. Ever since he was a baby, the ghost would help him up, keep him from falling. And San was a quiet kid, okay, he never breathed a word about him to anyone else, ever. Even his parents. The ghost was _his_ secret. _His_ friend. 

In hindsight, San’s very glad he didn’t say anything, because his parents definitely would’ve sent him to a psychiatrist even more often than they already did. 

He tried giving him a name once, but the ghost rebelled _so strongly_ against the notion of being called “Mr. Sparkle” that San hasn’t tried to name him again. To be fair, if San was unable to speak or communicate his name and some kid tried to call him Mr. Sparkle he would be more than mildly upset. 

(One way the ghost can communicate, though, is dreams. He doesn’t do it often—maybe it takes too much energy?—but when he does he can get ideas across pretty solidly. He hasn’t _talked_ to San in the dreams, but instead shows him memories. Usually San’s in the ghost’s head, seeing the memories from his point of view. He knows they’re memories because the people are recurring, and he’s in the same body every time. He hasn’t gotten the ghost’s actual name yet, but he assumes it’ll come out eventually.)

The ghost has saved his life before. And maybe that’s the only reason San hasn’t tried to get himself committed to a mental hospital. (That and before, his parents would have flipped out, and now, since he has guardianship over his sister, he can’t leave her.) His parents were lawyers, and one of the people declared guilty because of their prosecution had gotten out early on probation. The guy had been desperate, San’s pretty sure. And now, looking back, San’s also pretty sure he wasn’t actually guilty. 

He’s never claimed his parents were good people. 

Anyway. San had gotten kidnapped. The guy wanted to get back at them for ruining his life. The ghost had intervened and knocked the guy out somehow—San was too panicked to pay attention—and led San right back to his parents. 

So he’s grateful. 

He lands on the other side of the gate. Byeol protests a bit, but San soothes her through the bubble and heads up to the house. 

It’s very modern. Concrete and glass. Not exactly what he would have expected, looking at the key. 

He’d been given the key in a manilla envelope, kind of what you’d expect suspicious spy documents to come in. It’s ornate, old. There’s an insignia on the top, a spiral and a lion. He’d thought it’d lead him to a decrepit shack, honestly. This house is a little worn down, but it’s _nice,_ and he’d expect that of his hotshot lawyer parents, but why on earth is the key so ancient looking?

He drops his suitcase on the floor in the atrium and heads off immediately in search of a bed. 

It’s dusty as hell, but he’s tired, so he lets Byeol out of her prison and collapses onto the bed in the first bedroom he sees. A dust cloud rises into the air. San coughs, but doesn’t bother moving. “I’ll deal with it in the morning,” he tells the irate ghost, who’s pushing around the dust. “Sleeping now.” 

And he does. But as he slips away, he can’t help but feel as if he’s forgotten something important.

* * *

(When he dreams that night, it’s of a boy. He looks maybe thirteen, and they’re playing together, and the other is giggling. He feels love, in his heart, love that he knows by now isn’t his. They’re together next to the house, standing newer and prouder than it does now in its stubborn and weathered state. 

“Hyung!” He yells, following after him. “The cliff, Sangie-hyung, watch out!”

The boy—Sangie?—turns, grins at him, and lets himself fall off the edge.

He runs to look for him, but below, all he sees is water.)

* * *

The dust is everywhere.

San sneezes through a lot of the cleaning process, and he’s only halfway done with one room. Maybe he’ll just pick one or two rooms to spend most of his time in and only clean those. It might be more efficient. It’s not like he’s going to use this entire giant house—there’s only one of him, after all, and the house was definitely built for a big family. Byeol makes two, he supposes, and the ghost makes three. But do you even count ghosts when they don’t take up space on the physical plane?

A question for a more awake San to ponder. 

The ghost in question seems curious. San sees books lift slightly, doors and curtains twitch. He’s probably exploring. 

“What do you think?” San asks him. 

A pillow flies up from the couch and smacks him in the face, dumping all its dust directly into his mouth. “Hey!” He’d retaliate if he could, but, well. Ghost. Incorporeal.

Given the pillow-to-the-face attack, San’s going to assume his friendly ghost friend doesn’t like the house. Honestly he can’t blame him. It’s nice and it’s pretty but it’s cold, and impersonal, and his voice and footsteps echo. Also, it’s his family’s house. That’s always an unpleasant connotation. 

“You were here, in last night’s memory,” San says. A wind kicks up some of the remaining dust, giving away the ghost’s agitation. “You’ve been here when you were alive.”

The wind drops, and San takes that as the ghost leaving the room. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Byeol takes that moment to wander in, meowing loudly at him, probably complaining that he abandoned her in this strange place. He pats her head and gives her half of the only can of cat food he brought—he’ll have to buy more today, but he can probably find a pet aisle at the grocery store when he gets food for himself. 

There’s not much he can do about the sulking ghost, so he takes one last glance around the room for any sign he’s still there, and when he finds none, heads off to the entryway to retrieve his suitcase.

He drops it in the bedroom he’d slept in. It’s a pretty nice bedroom, honestly, he wouldn’t mind staying there even if there’s a bigger main bedroom. Speaking of… he should probably explore a little. 

The kitchen is nice—the fridge and stove both look old, but they’re still nice. There is, however, a bowl emitting a frankly putrid smell sitting on the counter. It’s more mold than bowl, at this point. San kind of doesn’t want to touch it, but he steels himself and grabs it and runs out the front door to launch it off the cliff, because he honestly can’t think of a better way to discard it. It lands in the ocean with a plop. 

Even though it’s gone, the smell remains, and he pinches his nose when he peers over at the sink. It has a plate or two and some utensils, again, covered in mold and smelling terrible. 

It’s kind of evident, from that, that whoever was here last wasn’t expecting to be gone for long. 

San can remember the car ride home from his own visit, when he was eight. It hadn’t seemed like they were in a hurry, but maybe someone else visited between then and now. His parents had mentioned his grandparents and uncle liking it here, anyway. 

He pokes around a bit in the kitchen—the fridge is… he shuts it and decides to just not open it again. There’s so much fucking mold. Disgusting. Honestly, he’s grateful there weren’t any maggots. 

...None that he’s seen.

Not really doing much to convince himself to clean it, huh.

The pantry is in a similar state, though there isn’t _too_ much mold, so maybe he can consider it a lot better just on that count. He swears he sees a rat scurry into the shadows, though, and that’s… ugh. He’ll deal with it later. He finds trash bags under the sink and just swipes everything in. He initially thought maybe the ramen would be salvageable but there’s little holes where some kind of rodent chewed through all the packaging, so maybe not. In the end he has too many bags and despairs thinking of lugging all of them to whatever dump or trash disposal system this town has. 

Anyway. Maybe, considering the state of the kitchen, there’ll be stuff left in bedrooms or common spaces, which could potentially give him some sort of clue as to what, exactly, his parents wanted to bring him here for. He’d only really looked at the living room so far, but there wasn’t anything of note there. 

The only other rooms on this floor are the dining room, a few bedrooms, and their connecting bathrooms, all of which are uninteresting and lacking abandoned items, but he takes the stairs up to the second floor, and _whoa_. 

There’s a wall facing the ocean, completely glass. The view is beautiful. The house itself must be balanced just on the edge of the cliff, because when San gets close and looks straight down he sees waves crashing into the rocks below. There’s a tiny sliver of sand where the water retreats that may be a beach during low tide. He wonders if there’s a way to get down there. Certainly not jumping—it’s a long way down into shallow water, and there’s one particular slab of rock that almost looks like a table and is large enough it’d be a problem to avoid. It’s kind of discolored, too, brownish at the middle, and San’s kind of worried some animal already fell down there. Hopefully it won’t happen again. Both for the animals’ sake and his.

Away from the morbid thoughts. 

San’s stomach rumbles. His phone (fifty percent—yikes) says it’s ten thirty, so maybe he can go and find a place in town to eat, then bring groceries back. 

He didn’t really think the lack of a car thing through. To be fair, he kind of expected to be _in_ town, not in the forest on the outskirts. His parents were always more city people. 

Since the house doesn’t have power, he doesn’t have hot water, but he does have water in general, so he rinses his face and changes his clothes before he leaves, hoping that’s enough. He’s a little leery of _how_ he has running water, because that’s generally something you can turn off remotely, but he’s not going to question it too much. And he’ll figure out the generator situation when he comes back. 

He leaves some water out for Byeol, who’s wandered off to some other part of the house by now, and gathers his wallet and the key and treks out to hop the gate again. Again, hopefully no one sees him and reports him for breaking into his own house. 

The town is no more a bustling metropolis than it was last night when San arrived, but it’s certainly more awake. People ambling down streets, people on the porches of their houses, shops with soft music playing and open doors. (People staring at him—but he puts that down to them not being used to visitors.) He walks past a bakery at one point, the smell of fresh cookies and pastries and coffee almost enticing enough for him to make a pit stop, but he should definitely eat real food before filling up on sweets. It’s a very adult decision that he’s proud of himself for making. 

The town’s small enough that he’s pretty sure everything commercial is just on the square, and the rest is residential. There’s a diner-type place in the direction he’s already walking, so he continues that way and lingers at the window to look at the menu. 

“Tourist?” Someone asks, much closer to his ear than he was expecting. San’s proud to say he doesn’t jump, but he does flinch away just the slightest bit. 

“Kind of,” he says. He turns.

Huh.

Okay, it’s not to say that he expected everyone in the tiny remote beach town would be _ugly_. But he certainly hadn’t expected anyone like this.

This being a man so beautiful San could cry.

The man grins at him, sticks out a hand. _I’m too gay for this_ , is all San can think as he numbly takes it. 

“I’m Wooyoung,” the man says. San pulls back a little, involuntarily, and something in the pit of his stomach drops at the name. Deja vu? Probably. He would remember meeting someone who looks like _that_. “If you’re debating about eating here then the answer is yes. Try the tteokkochi. It’s some of the best I’ve ever had.”

“San.” Again with the snacks. San loves food, don’t get him wrong, but if he eats snacks first he’ll just keep eating snacks and won’t have room for real food. “I think I’ll do that,” he says anyway. “I appreciate the recommendation.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung says. “Are you here alone? I was just about to get lunch myself, if you want to join me. I can show you around after if you want.”

San doubts there’s much to show, but if he looks like less of an outsider, wandering around with a local, then he’s all for it. “If you’re not busy, that’d be great!”

The air conditioning that hits them as Wooyoung opens the door is greatly appreciated. Inside is very much retro America, black and white tiled floors, reddish booths and barstools, soft orange walls covered in framed pictures and neon signs. _Cap’s_ , the biggest one reads. 

“It’s called Inception, officially,” Wooyoung says, following his gaze. “But most of us call it Cap’s.”

“Wooyoung!” 

Wooyoung winces. “Um.”

There’s a man standing at the cash register in front of the entryway, tapping a pen on the table passive-aggressively. He doesn’t look _angry,_ per se, but he certainly doesn’t look happy. San suddenly regrets walking in with Wooyoung. “Did you really break into my house to steal one sock from every pair of socks I own? Really?”

“Okay. I’m gonna be completely honest. I know that sounds like something I’d do—” honestly _San_ thinks it sounds like something Wooyoung would do and he’s known Wooyoung for a grand total of maybe a minute. “—but I swear, Seonghwa, it wasn’t me.”

“Who would it—” Seonghwa stops, sighs, and glowers in the direction of what must be the kitchen. “I regret letting him into my house.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Wooyoung giggles and pulls San to a booth nestled in the corner instead of waiting for Seonghwa’s response. 

“Was it really not you?” San asks teasingly.

Wooyoung groans, but the dramatic way he flops onto the bench says he doesn’t mean it. “I swear it wasn’t! Hongjoong just likes to blame me for his own pranks.”

“But if you’re a reasonable scapegoat, then you obviously aren’t always entirely innocent,” San says.

“Ah,” Wooyoung says, hand to his forehead like he’s fainting. “Got me there.” 

They pause to order, San taking Wooyoung’s recommendation as well as some actual meal food. Seonghwa promises them fifteen minutes and disappears into the kitchen.

“How small is the town, anyway?” San asks. People have been greeting each other around them, and even Wooyoung’s waved a few times. Clearly everyone’s fairly friendly.

“Relatively.” Wooyoung shrugs. “Population five hundred, I think. I grew up here, and I don’t really leave, so I don’t quite know how it compares.”

“That’s very small,” San notes. “But I lived in Seoul, so maybe I just have a skewed view and it’s not small compared to other towns. Do you know everyone, then?”

“I’d like to think I do. Who knows, though, maybe there are some recluses I’m missing.”

Small talk is easy, even though San usually has trouble with it. Wooyoung’s just pleasant to talk to, he supposes.

The promised fifteen minutes passes, and Seonghwa emerges with their food.

“So what brings you here?” Wooyoung asks. “‘Kind of’ tourism?”

“Family stuff,” San says. “I’m visiting. My parents used to spend time here, but I know nothing about it, really.” 

“Oh interesting! Are you staying long?”

San shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s indefinite, right now.”

Wooyoung nods in understanding.

There isn’t a moment of awkward silence, which is nice. San usually has trouble filling conversational space, but like he said before, Wooyoung makes it easy. It’s nice. Especially after going no-contact with everyone but his lawyer and his sister for the past two months. It’s very nice.

“So, anywhere in particular you want to check out?” Wooyoung asks.

And, shit. He needs to buy groceries and he needs to check if the electricity and water are still running in the house. He’d love for Wooyoung to show him around, but maybe now’s not the best time? He should figure out the house stuff before poking around town. He needs power. And Byeol might be getting hungry again. He says as much, a little sheepish, but Wooyoung waves it off.

“No problem,” he says. “That’s totally reasonable. Why don’t we meet up tomorrow? Cell service is shitty here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed—people usually just show up at each others’ houses. It’s probably much different than you’re used to, city boy.”

San nods enthusiastically, not rising to the bait of the teasing comment since he’s excited at the prospect of having a friend in this place. “Yeah, sure! I’m at the end of Lorelei Drive. The big one, facing the ocean?”

And Wooyoung—Wooyoung _shuts down._ His smile disappears, he pulls back and closes off his body language. He was so friendly and warm and open before, to everyone he saw, and yeah San hasn’t known him long but the flip between that and—and _this,_ whatever this is… It’s chilling. “Your name is Choi,” Wooyoung says. He’s not asking.

“Y—yes? Is that—” San combs through what he said, but he has no idea what could have pissed him off. It was literally one second happy, the next cold enough that San’s starting to actually shiver. Was it the house? Is there something wrong with the house?

“Fuck that,” Wooyoung says, slamming his hands on the table. He stands, fumbles pulling cash out of his pocket to cover his portion. “Nope. Nope! Can your fucking family leave me alone for one fucking year? If you ever talk to me again, I _will_ throw you off your extravagent piece of cliff into the ocean your family hates so fucking much!”

And with that dramatic statement, he storms out of the diner.

San sits, stunned. He doesn’t know what else to do. The rest of Cap’s’ patrons slowly go back to their own lunches, the low murmur resuming with some trepidation, like they’re all waiting for him to storm out too. He doesn’t. He pulls his milkshake closer to him and pulls one long, drawn out sip. 

Outside, it starts to rain.

“That was unfortunate,” someone says, dropping down into Wooyoung’s now-vacated seat. 

Unfortunate’s one word for it. Clearly, his family pissed some people off, while they were here. Great. So San has the dubious pleasure of dealing with those repercussions. If only he knew _what_ they did, he could begin to make amends. Maybe there’s someone he can ask? But Wooyoung, at least, doesn’t exactly seem like he’d be willing to sit down and talk about it.

San snorts into his cup. “You can say that again.” 

“I won’t,” the man assures him, reaching out a hand. He’s wearing the same uniform Seonghwa was, peach vest over white button down and white slacks, though San’s pretty sure the man in front of him’s wearing a peach skirt as well. He must work here. His hair’s blue, and it should look out of place among the warm colors of the diner but he somehow makes it work. “I’m Hongjoong. Wooyoung’s a friend of a friend, and I know he has a bit of a temper, so sorry about that. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. Just startled,” San says, accepting the handshake. Wooyoung had mentioned a Hongjoong, hadn’t he? The guy reminds him a bit of someone, but San can’t recall who. “I’m San.”

“No one new’s staying at the hotel, so I’m assuming you’re visiting family,” Hongjoong says, now shamelessly eating Wooyoung’s fries. San wonders if he’s supposed to be working right now. “What house?”

“Given what happened just now, I feel like I should start keeping that to myself.” San drops his head back on the booth’s backrest and stares at the ceiling. It’s yellowing, and one of the bulbs is flickering. There’s a piece of plaster peeling off the edge of the wall.

Hongjoong whistles lowly. “So that’s what set him off. Lorelei Drive, right?”

San squints at him suspiciously.

“Wooyoung hates your family,” Hongjoong says. “Though I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

“Yeah.” San laughs hollowly. “He made it a little obvious.”

Hongjoong nods, swallows his mouthful of chicken. San’s a little amused to note that he’s moved from the fries to the rest of Wooyoung’s lunch. “He’s a sweetheart, usually. Your family just… sets him off.”

“That’s unfortunate,” San says. “Maybe I can change his mind.”

Hongjoong shrugs. “He’s a bit stubborn. You’re not gonna have much luck.”

“I can still try.”

“That you can.” Hongjoong wipes his fingers on the napkin. His nails are painted red. That feels important, but San can’t put a finger on why. “Hey, stop by if you ever want company. You’re new here, so I’m guessing you don’t know many people, and it can be hard to integrate yourself without some help. I’m working shifts here Mondays through Thursdays at 1 to 8, and Seonghwa usually lets my friends hang out by the counter while I’m running around. Wooyoung only shows up during Seonghwa’s shifts cause he likes to annoy him while he’s working, so you should be in the clear.”

“I might take you up on that,” San says, grateful.

“I’m sure you will.” Hongjoong winks, and saunters off (he _is_ wearing a skirt! It looks good on him) to a tall frowning man who gives off big puppy vibes. He says something, and the man brightens up considerably, squeezing Hongjoong in a hug, and then dragging him out of Cap’s by the hand. Hongjoong waves at San before he’s pulled through the door. Seonghwa yells after them about how Hongjoong’s shift is starting in five minutes and if he’s not back in time he’s firing him.

San finishes off the dregs of his milkshake and wonders if small towns are always this exciting.

* * *

So, the house. The water’s running, but the electricity’s not. That’s fine, he can work with that for as long as his battery pack lasts. Though his phone doesn’t have signal and the town’s supposed to be off-grid, so maybe it’s not worth even having it on. 

San’s tempted to go have a cold shower but he needs to check the generator before it gets dark. His parents probably turned it off, or something.

He doesn’t have a map, is the thing. He doesn’t know where it is. It shouldn’t be far, though. 

The land surrounding the house is nice. There aren’t many trees, but there’s a lot of growth. Shrubs and stuff. Honestly, he’s surprised the house itself hasn’t been overrun. 

There’s a few paths he could take—well, he thinks they’re paths. They’re really more openings in the walls of shrubbery. He picks one at random and just hopes he doesn’t get lost on the property. 

Anyway. Hongjoong seemed nice. It was nice of him to come over and talk to him instead of talking and pointing like everyone else, and it was nice of him to invite him back. San’s not sure he wants to go back to Cap’s, but given that he’s met a grand total of two people and one of them hates him, he’ll probably end up back there regardless of what he wants. 

And Wooyoung… the whole situation reads like a bad omen. Wooyoung seemed well liked by everyone in the diner, and presumably the town itself. Hopefully he won’t spread any nasty rumors. It’s not like San can help what family he was born into. Though honestly he can’t blame Wooyoung for being wary, at least, because from what he’s learned recently… San’s not discounting anything, is what he’s saying.

Hate like that doesn’t come out of nowhere. He just wishes Wooyoung would tolerate his presence long enough for him to trace it back. 

Whatever. He shakes his head. Whatever Wooyoung’s problems are, either he’ll confront San about it or he won’t. San’ll try not to worry about it until that happens.

He eventually emerges at a grassy clearing, and immediately regrets it. 

There’s a faerie ring, in the middle, surrounding a small cross. There might be some symbolism there, but he’s a little too weirded out to think too hard about that right now. 

The thing about creatures like the fae is that San legitimately has no clue if they exist or not. It’s plausible, given his ghost situation, but human essence (spirits, souls, whatever you want to call them) lingering after death is a very different realm than entirely non-human, mythical creatures. However it doesn’t hurt to be cautious, and San’s never discounted the possibility that something like the fae or unicorns or dragons could exist, so he’s read up on a lot of mythology. He knows all the tricks. It’s a little unfortunate that people think he’s rude when he doesn’t say thank you, but honestly better safe than sorry. 

San inches closer, as close as he can without crossing the ring, trying to see if the cross has a name—a name would confirm his assumption that it’s a grave. It’s too grimey for him to tell, unfortunately, but he thinks there’s an inscription. Call him superstitious, but you could not _pay_ him to step into that faerie ring, even if that’s what it’ll take to read the words carved on the cross, so he gives up and backs away from the clearing. No use provoking bad luck.

Luckily, the next path he chooses leads to a small hut, and when he cautiously opens the door, he finds the generator.

It’s just a really fucking weird generator.

He did a little reading on generators when he figured out that the town is very much in the middle of nowhere, and that it's more probable the electricity comes from generators instead of electric companies. He even looked into specifically hydro powered generators, and he can actually tell this one is hydro powered, it’s just… put together really weird. 

He does figure it out eventually. It’s not turned off or broken, but there’s an ancient looking key, kind of resembling the key to the front door, somehow stuck in the gears. He manages to extract it slowly, careful not to catch his fingers, and examines the rusted metal. It’s smaller than the one he was given, but it holds the same insignia on top. He wonders if there are any other locked doors on the property that this will open. Maybe the gate?

The turbine slowly grinds into motion and he sits back on his heels, relieved. He’s not really an engineering-inclined person. It’s honestly a miracle he even realized the key wasn’t supposed to be there. 

By that point the sun’s starting to go down and he’s getting hungry and somewhat uneasy, being out here in the growing darkness with nothing but his (dying) phone, so he hurries back to the house without thinking too much on it, feeling a little like he’s being watched. He shivers suddenly, about halfway back, and feels mildly comforted to know that his ghost is there. The rest of the run isn’t as nerve wracking.

He’d bought kimbap at the grocery store earlier, anticipating being too tired to make dinner. He was right. Past-San is the MVP.

The first thing he turns on, between bites, is the fridge. He’ll deal with the mold tomorrow, but maybe it being on will help? Byeol pops in for her food, which he places on the floor for her, and she eats it in record time and zooms away. He squints after her, but shakes his head in dismissal. Her behavior isn't _that_ weird.

He finishes unloading his groceries and ambles off to find an AC controller. He’d specifically bought non-perishables where he could, aware of the fridge situation, but he does have some milk and he’s a little worried of it spoiling. Whatever. He’ll check in the morning.

Once that’s fixed, he lets himself collapse onto one of the chairs he’d cleaned in the morning. It’s been a long day. Not entirely horrible, but definitely could have gone better. He still has a laundry list of things to do. Clean the house, explore the house, fix the gate, explore the land, figure out whose grave is surrounded by a fairy ring (he’s not looking forward to that one), make friends with people in town who don’t hate him, figure out what he did when he was here, find people who knew his parents, and figure out why people (Wooyoung specifically, maybe) hate his family. 

It’s a lot. He should probably sleep on it. 

So he does.

* * *

(“Your family’s hunting again.”

He jolts, startled. “Oh.”

Sangie flops onto the sand next to him. “I’m worried for Binnie’s kids.”

“You know they’re, like, all older than all of us, right?” 

Sangie waves a hand. “Irrelevant. They’re kids. We’re us.”

He feels a pang at that, but forces it down quickly before he can think too hard about it. “And they can take care of themselves. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Sangie rubs his eyes. “Still. I’m worried.”

“They’ll be fine, Yeosang,” he says. “I promise. They’ll be fine.”)

* * *

He wakes up again to the sun shining through his window. The dream’s slipping away, as dreams tend to do, but he grasps onto the important bits, pawing over at the nightstand for his phone to write it down. _Yeosang. Binnie. Hunting._

Hunting. Something about the word tickles at his memory, but he’s promptly distracted by the reminder on his phone going off— _date confirmation._ His lawyer knew ahead of time that San would be unreachable, so hopefully if there are complications he can take care of it—but San can’t help but worry.

Byeol’s meowing at him. He blinks, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, to find her standing, agitated, next to the bed. “What?” He asks, but she escalates to higher pitched meowing. It’s weird, for her. She’s done stuff like this before, when weird stuff happens to him, but never _at_ him.

Something in the bathroom rattles, startling him out of his musing. She whirls around and hisses at the door. He sighs. When he opens the door, nothing’s there, but his toothbrush has been knocked over.

Honestly, he should be used to these kinds of things. The ghost… San isn’t sure if it likes playing pranks, or it’s trying to warn him, or… something. 

“Stay,” he tells his toothbrush firmly, putting it back in its cup. There’s a somewhat mocking returning rattle. He ignores it. 

The outlet by the bed hadn’t let him plug his charger in yesterday, blocked by those surge protector things that close the outlet when it’s not in use, so he collects his phone from where he left it on the counter. He supposes it’s reasonable for the thing to be stuck, considering how long the house was abandoned, but it’s kind of inconvenient. 

He could probably just take off the protector. 

He has a few coins in his pocket, so he uses those to unscrew the outlet plate. The thing comes off—sockets and all. 

Bingo.

He’s not entirely surprised to find that the “outlet” isn’t an outlet at all.

There’s a key sitting in the little matchbox-sized enclave. A quick comb through of the room reveals a little keyhole-esq bump on the edge of the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, there’s a click, and the mirror swings open.

There’s a box.

He takes it and sets it on the bed, wondering if maybe he should be worried about it. It’s certainly very old.

He opens it. Inside are bundles of paper and pictures. Letters, he thinks. He takes the pictures out first, to find that they mostly consist of two people. Laughing and holding onto each other, having fun. It’s not lost on him that finding the box in his family’s house likely means that one of the people in the pictures is related to him. One of them has bleached blond hair, around ear length. He’s pretty, almost ethereally so.

The second guy has brown hair, probably natural, and he’s also pretty, but definitely buff. In one of the pictures he’s holding a split mellon with an expression of smug glee that probably means he broke it himself. The first guy’s just looking at him with the fondest expression of annoyance.

San pulls out some of the writing. The paper is old, yellowing. The first letter—unsent, apparently—is addressed to—

_Dear Yeosang,_ it reads. 

Holy shit. 

There’s a spot of cold on his arm, around the size of a hand. The ghost. 

The ghost knew someone named Yeosang. The ghost has been here, to this house. It’s not entirely implausible that the ghost is, then, San’s relative. Which kind of makes sense, in a way. There’s that traditional belief that your ancestors are always watching.

This one maybe just took it a little too literally.

_Dear Yeosang._

The letter reminds him a little of Romeo and Juliet, how it’s written. Last ditch. San tries not to crinkle it as he reads, but his grip gets tighter and tighter and at the end he sets it down, abruptly, and re-hides the box. He puts the key back in its hiding place, and hurries out of the room and the house. Hongjoong had said 1-8pm, but Cap’s should be open and Seonghwa had seemed friendly enough. San just needs to find someone, anyone that his family was close to. There has to be _someone_ in the town, and having a new name, even if it’s a nickname, is big. He’s never heard of a Jjong in his family, and he’d been hitting dead ends in his family history for months, now. 

Maybe this is the clue he didn’t know he needed. 

* * *

_Dear Yeosang,_

_Hopefully my family won’t find this letter._

_I tried to find what you asked for, I swear. But by now my family knows I love you and I think they’re coming for me tonight. Planets are aligning, or something. They were murmuring about ritual power._

_I’m sorry I let you down._

_I’m going to try and run, to get help. I’ll come back for you. I’m just no use to either of us dead and I_ will _die if I don’t go immediately. WCY waiting for me and hopefully we’ll be able to figure it out together._

_If you ever find this… that means I didn’t destroy it. Whether that means I got out and couldn’t get back in, or didn’t make it out, is up in the air. Either way, I didn’t make it back to save you, which means I failed._

_I just realized this is the first time I’ve said it. Written it, I guess. That I love you. But I do, I love you more than I can even comprehend. I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I love you anyway. I don’t think I can stop._

_I have to go. I’m out of time._

_I’ll come back soon. I promise._

_Yours always,_

_Jjong._

* * *

San’s been avoiding thinking about why exactly the house was abandoned without notice. 

Because even if someone had just left for a day or two, they would have washed the dishes or put that bowl away. Whoever was last here left in a hurry. And with Wooyoung’s outburst— _Fuck you and your fucking family_ —he thinks that it’s not impossible that there are people in town who really didn’t like them. (Not that San blames them.) 

And then there’s the letter. “Jjong” potentially (definitely) being his relative aside, San doesn’t even know where to _start_ with it. He doesn’t know what any of it means—ritual power? What the hell is ritual power? 

He pushes open the door. A bell chimes at his entrance, which startles him because when they came in the day before there wasn’t a bell.

“Oh, hey. San, right?” Seonghwa nods at him, but he’s focused on the corner booth. There’s three guys around their age hunched over the table, and occasionally one of them will gesture too hard and almost knock over a glass, but they’re the only people there besides Seonghwa and San. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” San says, shrugging a shoulder. “I know Hongjoong said he works here starting at one, but I don’t really know anyone else, so… I was wondering if you could help me find some people?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, but he clearly decides San doesn’t have any overt ill intent because he gestures at one of the bar seats near his station at the register. “I don’t know as many people as Hongjoong, but I can try. How’s the Landlord House?” He says it in a way that denotes that it needs Capital Letters For Emphasis. 

San sits, leaning his face into his palm. “Landlord house? Is that, like, a Thing?” 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says. “Since it kind of towers over the town. People started making jokes about it being a feudal lord house, and that evolved to the landlord house.”

Huh. He can see that. The cliff thing, being one of the only houses outside town, being significantly bigger and nicer than most other houses. It makes sense. 

“I’m getting the feeling that my family isn’t well liked.”

Seonghwa laughs. “Yeah, got us there.”

Ouch. Expected, but ouch. “Is there anyone that liked them? Or not even that, but anyone that knew them well?”

“Can I ask why?”

One of the three guys in the corner is looking over at them. Seonghwa shakes his head slightly and he looks back away. 

Here’s the thing. 

Being completely honest to himself, thinking with all the facts he has and assumptions he’s made, San knows his presence in this town doesn’t look good. His family can be cruel. He thought they would be more subtle than whatever the hell they did to make the people here hate them, but maybe this is where they fucked up. Maybe they left this town behind for a reason and San’s presence is throwing everything off balance again. But he _doesn’t know_ because he can’t exactly ask his parents and the last thing he wants to do any time in the near future is call his grandmother or his uncle. 

San’s not here to look for absolution. He’s well aware his family isn’t necessarily filled to the brim with altruistic people. But maybe, to Seonghwa, him asking after anyone in Haven who might not dislike his family means he’s looking for someone to tell him “they weren’t that bad”. San just wants to wrap up what he needs to wrap up in this town, and get out. No use prolonging his stay when it just makes everyone involved uncomfortable. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell _any of them_ that without sounding incredibly fake. 

So he goes with honesty. “My family spent a long time hammering our family tree into my head, for some reason. I could tell you my great-great-uncle’s birthdate, deathdate, former address, and what he left who in the will. I could trace several family heirlooms back eight generations. But I just found the name of someone I’ve never even heard a whisper about and I want to know why.”

Seonghwa nods. San tentatively takes this as approval. “The library’s open on weekends. You’ll find a book there, 2020 updated version of town records. If your missing relative lived in Haven, they’ll be in that book.”

San deflates, sinking back into the backrest of the chair. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“I’d show you where it is, but I’m a little busy.” Cap’s is still practically empty. San imagines a tumbleweed rolling past. Ah, yes. So busy. “Tell you what—hey, Changbin!”

One of the three turns to look at him, the other two ignoring him to continue their furtive discussion. “Yeah?” He has a bit of a death glare. Yikes.

But. Binnie? From the dream? If the letter’s to be believed then Changbin’s way too young to be the same Binnie. Still… San can’t stop thinking about it.

“You owe me from last week,” Seonghwa says, leaning forward and smiling a little bit too conspiratorily for San to be comfortable with. “I’m cashing in that favor.”

Changbin groans, flopping onto his black-haired friend. Said friend protests and shoves him off, too engrossed in whatever the red-haired one is doing. “Really? Now?” He whines.

“Show San around,” Seonghwa says, and Changbin groans again. Louder. “He needs to know where the library is, but might as well just give him a tour.”

Changbin gets up like one might expect a petulant toddler to. Slowly, and with much disagreement. “Fine. I’m leaving,” he tells his friends, but they just wave him off. He rolls his eyes and gestures for San to follow.

The bell doesn’t chime when they leave Cap’s, and when San takes a glance he doesn’t see one. Maybe he imagined it…?

“You should probably be careful who you tell your address to.” Changbin says, then winces. “Ah, that came out… I heard about yesterday. Lots of people don’t like your family.”

“I’m getting that,” San says drily. “It’s not like I’ll have the chance to introduce myself to people anymore. Seems to be town gossip at this point.”

“Maybe. So the library, huh?”

Changbin walks him through most of the town, stopping to point out which restaurants are best for what. There’s a teahouse a little off the square that San wouldn’t have even noticed on his own that Changbin says has the best custard buns, a little hotpot/kbbq place at the corner of the square that’s disguised almost as a nightclub, and the one bar in town looks just like a regular restaurant, and according to Changbin he should stop by even if he doesn’t drink. They have open mic type concert nights there, sometimes, that are worth attending. The library isn’t far off from the square, but it’s tucked away enough that San understands now why Seonghwa insisted someone show him the way. 

And in the entire time they walk, Changbin manages to not divulge a single fact about himself while also pulling tiny bits of information out of San, which is something San only realizes as they slow down. San’s inadvertently told him about Byeol, which is fine, but also that he has a sister, which is less fine. And probably more. San doesn’t quite remember. Changbin’s good at small talk, apparently. 

They come to a stop at the dock.

“There’s a restaurant over on that side,” Changbin says, pointing. “It’s nicer than the ones in town, probably more your speed, since you come from a city. My friend owns it, and his cooking is to die for. You should stop in while you’re here.”

“I will,” San assures him. “Does Haven not have a beach?”

Changbin frowns at him, and San wonders if he said something wrong. There’s nothing weird about asking after a beach, is there? It just seems like he keeps stepping on people’s toes and he doesn’t know how to stop. “No.”

San nods and doesn’t push further. Okay, maybe the town’s sensitive about their lack of beaches. 

“So what do you owe Seonghwa over?”

Changbin grimaces. “Drinking games at a mutual friend’s place. I’m not telling you details.”

San holds back his laugh. Drinking games. Not exactly what he expected, though he doesn’t really know what he was expecting. 

“I heard you ask about your family.” Changbin says. It’s an abrupt change of topic.

San’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t eavesdropping on the entire conversation. “Oh. Yeah.”

Changbin squints at him. “You seem like a decent person, honestly. I was expecting puppy kicking.” San splutters. There’s no good way to respond to that, is there? “If you really want a family friend, look into Song Mingi. His family’s been close with yours for years. His parents are… I wouldn’t go there, but maybe you can stand it. Mingi’s a solid guy. He’ll probably be able to tell you what you want to know.”

“I appreciate that,” San says earnestly. “That helps a lot.”

“He’s friends with Seonghwa.” Changbin says it like a warning. “Seonghwa probably didn’t tell you about him to try and protect him, but you’ll probably see Mingi around, anyway. I’m telling you because you seem decent. Don’t prove me wrong.” There’s a figure in the distance, waving somewhat frantically at them. Well, at Changbin, San assumes. Changbin flips them off, and the figure flips him off right back. “Ah, I think that’s my cue to leave—is there anything else you needed? Mingi’s attached to Yunho, when he’s not at the library. And Yunho practically hangs off Hongjoong’s arm. You can find them at Cap’s when Hongjoong clocks out.”

San thanks Changbin for his time—Changbin smiles back toothily and San’s reminded of that time he ran into a shark while swimming in Busan. It wasn’t an aggressive shark, but he’d seen enough of his grandfather at that point to be terrified out of his mind. Grandfather rips on about sharks whenever he gets the chance. He got bit by one when he was in his twenties, and it took his hand right off. He was on the beach, when out of the blue this shark— _giant_ , he tells San. _It was huge and monstrous and all it wanted was to eat me_ —came up and latched onto him. He regales everyone with the glorious tale of how he fought it off, knocked it out and took it home to gloat, saving both him and his little brother. 

So. Not the most pleasant of experiences. He hastens his retreat.

When he looks back, both Changbin and the figure are standing in front of the dock, seemingly arguing, before the figure throws up their arms and enters the restaurant. Changbin remains standing, alone.

It’s not his business, San tells himself. He’s trying to _avoid_ stepping on toes. 

Cap’s is empty when San reenters, and once again the bell rings. He glances up, puzzled, but Hongjoong appears at the doorway to the kitchen before he can investigate further. “Hey! Seonghwa said you stopped by.”

“Yeah,” San says. “Changbin showed me around for a bit, but he had to meet a friend. Thought I’d come back and say hi, since it’s past one.”

Hongjoong beams at him. “Aw, thanks! Hi!”

Changbin’s two friends are still there, still bent over the table. San wonders what they’re doing that requires so much concentration. 

He spends the next few hours talking to Hongjoong, mostly small talk but a little bit about why he’s here. Hongjoong seems to be pressing a little about where his parents are and what he knows about them, but at this point San gets that their return would be a big deal. So he lets it slide, and says what he can. 

Unlike Changbin, Hongjoong actually gives him a bit in return. He tells him he has a few close friends who hang around with him at work, sometimes—Yunho (the guy from yesterday) and Mingi—but Seonghwa’s his closest friend and they spend a lot of time together on their off days. (San wonders who’s cooking the food while Hongjoong or Seonghwa’s out front, but Hongjoong’s on a roll at this point and he doesn’t want to interrupt.) He and Wooyoung aren’t super close, but Wooyoung’s close with Yunho and Seonghwa, so by extension he’d consider him a friend. It won’t hurt any of their opinions of San, Hongjoong reassures him. Wooyoung’s weird with new people, just doubly so with San since he’s from the family he’s from.

8pm arrives quickly, and Changbin’s friends hurry out the door so fast San’s surprised they didn’t break the sound barrier. The bell rings.

“There they are,” Hongjoong says, and San turns to see Yunho at Hongjoong through the window. He’s accompanied by another tall guy who’s making fun of his pout, presumably Mingi. “Seonghwa banned Yunho indefinitely. He’ll let him back in after like a week, though. No one can resist his puppy eyes.”

Yeah. The guy _is_ adorable. He can see why Seonghwa might have a hard time saying no. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says loudly. San didn’t even see him arrive. 

They make meaningful eye contact for a few seconds before Hongjoong shakes his head. “It’ll be fine,” he tells him, and leads San out by the elbow. The bell doesn’t ring. San squints up at the doorframe suspiciously.

“This is San,” Hongjoong says, gesturing to him. “San, this is Mingi and Yunho.”

“Hey,” Yunho says. “You’re the one Wooyoung’s going on about?”

Dammit. “Yeah.”

“He holds a mean grudge,” Yunho says. 

“I noticed.”

Mingi snorts. “He used to hate me, too. Don’t worry. If he gets to know you he’ll probably get over it.” He sticks his hand out. “Hi, nice to meet you. Our families are friends. Kind of. They’d be happy to have you over for dinner, or something.”

“Kind of?” San asks, shaking it. 

“It’s a weird dynamic,” Yunho says drily. Mingi glares at him, which keeps him from saying more.

“Mingi’s our unofficial town historian, though,” Hongjoong says. “Any questions you have about Haven, he probably has an answer.”

Interesting. “Can I ask you a few things about my family?” San asks. “Later, maybe?”

Mingi looks to Hongjoong in askance, which is interesting. Hongjoong nods. San notes that for further observation. 

“Sure,” Mingi says, now that he’s apparently received approval. “But it might be better for you to ask my parents.”

Hongjoong makes an ‘ick’ face. “Good luck with that.”

San’s not sure he wants to know what that means. “Uh, I don’t know. If they’re, like, _friends…_ I’m not sure I want to meet them, no offense.” Even though he did start today wanting to meet family friends, if he has the library and potentially Mingi as a resource, he’d like to avoid too much information on his movements reaching his family. Optimistically, Wooyoung’s rumor spreading won’t reach them, but San doesn’t have too much hope on that one.

Silence. Then Yunho’s face splits into a grin and he thumps San on the back. “You passed the vibe check.”

The tension bleeds out of all of them at that, and even Seonghwa—who’d been watching through the window—relaxes. “Absolutely no offense taken,” Mingi adds cheerfully. “I never want to meet your parents _ever_ , so we’re pretty even.” 

San grimaces. It’s not like Mingi will ever get the chance to meet them, anyway. Not after the events of this year. “Do you know why they spent time here? They only ever came up for a summer at a time.”

“Hunting,” Mingi says immediately. 

“Hunting,” Yunho repeats in distaste. 

_Hunting,_ San had written in his notes this morning. What the hell is so important about hunting?

They’re both pulling faces. Mingi wraps his arm around Yunho, comforting.

Hongjoong giggles, but he’s the only one even vaguely amused. “Just hunting, Sannie. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d worry about it,” Yunho says. “They pissed a lot of people off, hunting what they shouldn’t have. And now you’re here, without them. Some people would say you’re vulnerable.”

What.

They’re clearly on edge. What the hell did his family hunt? _What they shouldn’t have._ What does that _mean?_ San has a pretty good idea. It’s a horrible fucking idea but he wouldn’t put it past them. 

“Just steer clear of Wooyoung,” Hongjoong dismisses, blissfully unaware of the thoughts running through San’s head. “Lots of people don’t like you, but he’s the only one with the balls to act on it.”

Yunho tilts his head in admittance. “That’s fair.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mingi says to him quietly, as the other two devolve into an ethics debate of some kind—San tunes them out. “And at this point, plenty of people have seen you with Hongjoong. They’ll leave you alone for as long as he likes you. Except Wooyoung. Wooyoung’s kind of crazy, though. Not that I can blame him.”

“Why does he, specifically, hate me so much?” San asks. He shelves the Hongjoong comment, assuming he’s just really well liked. Cap’s seems popular, at least, so maybe it’s because he works there?

“There was a hunting accident,” Mingi says with some trepidation. “Two of his close friends died because of it.”

Oh. 

Yeah, that’s a fair reason.

“Hey, your gates are rusted shut, right? Mom likes to drive up sometimes, to see if anything’s changed. Not that she’d be able to see if there was a change.” 

“Yeah, they are.”

Mingi nods resolutely. “I can come by and help you get them unstuck on Friday, if you want. You can ask me questions then.”

That’s especially helpful because San’s not sure he could do it completely on his own. He was going to ask Hongjoong after he gave it a go, but if Mingi’s offering, he’ll gladly take him up on it. They make arrangements, and by the time they’re done Yunho and Hongjoong are wrapping up their argument, which has turned into… Shakespeare? San isn’t sure he wants to know at this point. 

“We’re going to the bakery,” Yunho tells him. Mingi’s already starting to walk, bullying Hongjoong about something fairly innocuous, but Hongjoong’s bullying him right back and Yunho’s clearly not worried, so it must be normal for them. “You can come with us, if you want.”

“I should go,” San says reluctantly. He does kind of want to stay, get to know them better, but he’s tired and still doesn’t know what to think about the three of them, and Byeol’s probably hungry by now, anyway. 

“Suit yourself,” Yunho says, and waves goodbye. 

“Will I see you at Cap’s tomorrow?” Hongjoong shouts. He turns several heads, but ignores them. San recalls what Mingi said and wonders if this is a verbal equivalent of staking territory. Hey look, I’m willing to yell my approval of this guy no one likes in the middle of the street!

“Sure,” San calls back. Why not?

* * *

(Jjong’s singing, this time, and he sees Yeosang smiling at him, but there are others around a campfire with them.

The song is… it’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. _If only we didn’t have to end up in tears,_ he sings, and Yeosang bows his head. 

“Your voice is beautiful,” one of the others tells him. “It’s a wonder you aren’t one of us.”

“Youngie,” Yeosang hisses, hitting him and looking up at Jjong cautiously.

But he doesn’t mind, because he knows what they’re talking about, even if San doesn’t know and Yeosang doesn’t know that he knows. “Thanks,” he says instead. 

Yeosang gets up to hug him, but he curls away, and thinks that he shouldn’t keep taking when Yeosang doesn’t really want to give. 

And with that thought, he wakes up.)

* * *

The song’s stuck in his head. San keeps finding himself humming it. It’s not a happy melody, but for some reason he finds it peaceful.

“Oh, hey.” 

San looks up at the familiar voice. “Oh! Changbin!”

Changbin nods. He’s wearing a hoodie today, which is weird because it’s really fucking hot, but kudos to him for being able to stand it. “We’ll sit at the bar, if you don’t mind.” His friend waves. It’s the black haired one from before. 

San hadn’t gotten a good look at him earlier. He regrets that a bit now because his _entire body_ is telling him to run, immediately. The longer San spends hesitating the more anxious he gets, especially with the searching look the guy gives him. 

San ignores it as best he can and smiles in response. “Sure,” he says. 

It’s been a few days since Changbin showed him around, and San’s dropped by the diner for each of them. Usually he’d just help out when the traffic was too high, but today Hongjoong’s in the back with Seonghwa, for some reason, and had left him with the very detailed instructions to ‘just give us their orders, and don’t let anyone leave without paying’. Yunho’s around, too, but San’s pretty sure he’s flirting with the girl at the corner booth, so he made the executive decision not to bother him about half an hour ago. 

“Did Hongjoong bail?” Changbin asks, not bothering to look at the menu. His friend picks up his own, though. 

“He’s in the back,” San says. “He said something about checking inventory with Seonghwa.”

Changbin’s friend snorts. “Oh yeah, they do that a lot. Must be a lot of inventory to check. I’m Han, by the way.”

“San.”

“I know.”

San sighs. “I guess I don’t need to introduce myself to anyone at this point.”

Han laughs. “Probably not.”

San’s not one to ignore his instincts, especially after the year he’s had, so he doesn’t show his back to the two of them for the entirety of their visit. He’s pretty sure neither of them notice, but he can’t really tell. Changbin’s blank-faced, in general, and Han is just… he spends the entire time smiling and laughing entirely genuinely. Usually San can tell when people fake it, because their eyes give them away, so if Han’s faking it he’s extraordinarily good. San’s never reacted to anyone like this, though, and like he said, he trusts his gut. There’s something off about Han.

The two of them whisper to each other through their ordering and right on through their meal. San minds his own business and takes other orders, and Hongjoong continues emerging occasionally to bring food out. San finds himself humming again to distract himself from the itch of Han’s presence, straining to remember the words, a title, anything, so that once he forgets the tune he’ll be able to listen to it again.

Soon enough, Han makes to leave. “Come visit my store,” he says to San before he does, lingering in the doorway. (The bell rings.) “You might find something you didn’t know you needed.” And with that he lets the door swing shut, and San watches him walk away. 

It’s a weird thing to say. San gets directions from Changbin anyway. Might as well take a look, right? Maybe it’ll lend some insight into why exactly San feels like the princess lying on the pea that is Han’s presence. Sensitive to something no one else seems to notice. 

“If you ever need anything, Hongjoong knows how to reach me,” Changbin says once San’s written the directions down. “It can’t be fun, spending your entire time here sitting around a diner.”

San’s a little surprised. He’d seemed… brusque, kind of, when he was showing San around. He hadn’t expected him to want to see him again. “Sure,” he says, kind of touched. 

“I love that song, by the way,” Changbin adds. San’s taken aback for a moment before remembering that he had been humming. Probably for most of the time they were here, too. “Most people find it sad, but I’ve always found it more hopeful than anything.”

“Yeah,” San says, for lack of anything better to say. He wants to ask the title, thinking of playing it off like he listened to it casually and forgot, but the silverware he’s sorting into drawers starts to shake, and he hurries to cover it up, and when he finally manages to look up without forks scattering across the floor, Changbin’s already out the door. (The bell doesn’t ring.)

Weird. It must’ve been the ghost acting up, but he usually doesn’t react to things like this. Maybe it’s just the song. It might’ve meant a lot to him.

Anyway, San would’ve pegged the expression on Changbin’s face as sad, if he hadn’t said what he said, but maybe it’s a bittersweet thing. 

“You seemed friendly with him,” Yunho says when Changbin’s gone. 

“He showed me around a few days ago,” San says. “He seems nice.” 

Yunho looks troubled. “Alright. It’s a little… Be careful, okay?”

As if San could even attempt to let his guard down. “Always.”

* * *

(They loom, like something out of a nightmare. San’s usually better at this, he can usually remember to check his wrist for a watch that may or may not be there, or find something to read, to confirm that this is just a dream, just in his head. But when he has nightmares, it’s never them. They’re different.

He thinks he’s here now because of what happened. That before, he knew they would never hurt him. Before, he wouldn’t have thought they could hurt anyone at all. Now they stand here, looming, and he’s frozen, remembering their last words to him. 

_It’s your fault._

He turned on them, and now they should be _gone_ but they’re here, looming over him.

One of them reaches forward, and he pulls back (he doesn’t flinch. They can’t hurt him). He looks behind him, desperate for the door, but his vision goes black and flashes red like a video game death and then—

Jjong’s sitting on the floor of a… basement? Maybe? In front of him, a man sits in chains and a gag. 

“Yeosangie,” he says softly, not daring to reach forward. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

This is Yeosang? 

They’re older, twenty maybe. Yeosang looks more like he does in the pictures.

Yeosang tilts his head, but doesn’t otherwise respond. Obviously. He physically can’t.

“I should’ve left all of you. I shouldn’t have stayed. You told me it was fine but I should have known better, fuck, sorry doesn’t even cover it, I—I don’t know what to do…”

Yeosang lifts his hands, making a twisting motion. 

“Key?”

He holds up a two.

“Two keys? I’ll find them. I promise.”)

* * *

The week passes, and before he knows it, it’s Friday. San doesn’t get in contact with Taehyung. He definitely should at this point, but he’d have to hike out beyond the city limits as far as he needs to get signal, and anyway the notion of calling is almost too much, for him. He doesn’t want to face everything he has to sort out, especially now that San’s technically acting legal guardian for his sister—as much as he loves her, he’s barely an adult himself, he can’t take care of a whole other human. Thankfully, Taehyung’s going above and beyond to help out. 

But there’s things Taehyung _can’t_ take care of, and while San set everything up ahead of time (going through assets their parents left them, sorting out finances and his sister’s schooling payments and paperwork, settling affairs, etc) there’s still things that need checking up on. Time sensitive things. Scheduling. It’s giving him a headache to think about. 

He kind of wishes he asked more questions while he could. (Not that his parents would have told him anything if he had asked.) Now it’s just him and his sister and the relatives he wants nothing to do with, and there’s no way she knows anything more than he does. 

Anyway, Mingi arrives at noon. San had gone out to the gate early, to see if he could get it started, but honestly he doesn’t think he made much headway. 

“Wow,” is all Mingi has to say as he comes to a halt. “They’re _really_ rusted shut.”

They are. They’re practically red, at this point, and the hinges barely look like hinges. Where they aren’t red, they’re green, the flora twining through the bars and gaps. 

“I don’t think this is normal,” San grunts, still pulling at the vine he started extracting like fifteen minutes ago. It’s stubborn. Very stubborn. 

“Definitely not,” Mingi agrees, and holds up a bucket of supplies. “You clip, I’ll spray.”

With the tools, they make decent headway by the time clouds set in, dark with rain. They don’t speak, both content with company over words. San’s questions aren’t (entirely) burning, after all, and the companionship is nice.

Mingi’s the one to suggest continuing even as the rain starts to fall. “It’ll help wash away some of the foam,” he justifies. San wonders why he’s willing to sit out here in a downpour with someone he barely knows, just to help open a gate.

Must be a small town thing.

“When I was eight,” San says into the quiet, lulled into a sense of security by the sound of rainfall, “My parents took me here to visit. Did we meet?”

Mingi shakes his head, though it looks more like when a dog shakes water out of its fur than an answer. “I remember that. My parents were talking about it, but your family kept you up here at all times. I never saw you.”

“Ah,” San says. He doesn’t know if he should say anything about how he’s forgotten that summer. He likes Mingi, but he doesn’t really trust him yet. He might have already given him away a little, but he can always play it off as being bad at retaining names. Eight’s young enough that anyone his age will have changed in appearance since then. 

They continue working with a little more back and forth with questions that San thinks Mingi might know, and the sun starts to set. _Yes,_ his family had to flee. _No,_ Mingi and his parents don’t know why. _Yes,_ San was with them when they ran. 

They’ve made it about three quarters through at this point, and Mingi looks up, then stands back. “I’m gonna try to push it. You pull.”

They heave and heave, but it doesn’t work. Mingi sighs, and they get back to de-rusting it. 

“By all accounts my family should hate yours just like everyone else,” Mingi says, quietly. “But there was some agreement a while back—I don’t know the details. We help your family in exchange for something. I don’t really know, there’s supposed to be this whole retelling family history thing my parents do when I turn twenty-five, but obviously I’m not there yet, so.”

“Obviously,” San echoes. 

“Do you think they’ll come back, anytime soon?” 

“My family… I don’t know. But my parents have some hold ups and hoops to jump through, for now.” Something in his gut squirms as he says it. He doesn’t want to think of the implications of his grandparents or his uncle searching for him, finding him here. He should. He should plan for the worst case outcome. But he doesn’t want to think about that now, so he doesn’t.

Mingi exhales, long lasting and relieved. “Good.”

Agreements that tie families together… that’s a very traditional thing. It’d be interesting to dig up any documents, see if anything’s binding for future generations who didn’t take part in the signing. Hopefully neither of them are bound to do things they don’t want to.

“Do you know anything about what happened? With Wooyoung’s friends? You said a hunting accident.”

Mingi pauses for a moment, then returns to scrubbing. “A little. It’s difficult to explain, because I didn’t know any of them, back then. Wooyoung hadn’t really gotten close with Seonghwa by that point, and that was kind of how he joined our circle, so I didn’t know him or his friends just yet. 

“They were fond of pranks. From what I’ve heard, two of them were hiding out in one of the caves for preparation of some kind. Harmless fun. But someone in your family was walking down the beach with a gun, and they must’ve startled them, because Ch—one of them heard gunshots and then silence, and when they went down to the beach…” Mingi shrugs. “There was blood on the rocks, but no one could find their bodies.” 

When Mingi said hunting accident, San thought he meant, like, shot at deer and accidentally hit humans instead. That’s way different than “startled and shot without thinking”, which is honestly so much worse. They can’t have shot _both people_ by accident. And then there weren’t bodies to bury. San’s starting to think Wooyoung _under-_ reacted when he figured out who San was. “That’s horrifying.”

“Yeah.” Mingi steps back, pushes on the gates a little. They give slightly, which is much more tangible progress than the two of them have had so far. San joins him, pulling from his side. “Wooyoung’s been through a lot. It doesn’t excuse how he is, but it does explain it. Just maybe keep that in mind when you’re around him.”

“I will.” 

The gates creak open. It’s a little laborious, San’s straining and he’s sure Mingi is too, but it works, finally. 

“You’re the best, I appreciate this so much,” San says, wiping plant debris off the clippers. “Do you want to come up and see the house…? I don’t have much food, but you can meet my cat.”

Mingi wrinkles his nose. “Ah, cats. No offense, but I kind of dislike cats. Usually the feeling’s mutual. Thanks for the offer though.” 

Fair. Mingi does strike him as a dog person. “Well, I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely.” 

And San watches, a little apprehensive, as Mingi heads back down the road. 

It’s not like he doesn’t believe him. Honestly, San’s pretty sure Mingi’s been more truthful to him today than literally anyone else has been for his entire life. But there’s just something weird about the whole situation. Maybe it’s just Haven. Maybe the entire town’s just their own brand of weird and San has yet to get adjusted. Maybe.

He guesses he’ll see.

* * *

(“Who do you think we’ll be, in ten years?” 

It’s back to just Jjong and Yeosang, sitting on the beach and looking at the stars. It’s quiet, except the waves crashing, the sound of their breathing. They’re younger than last time, lighter before whatever happened that ended with Yeosang chained to a wall.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just hope we’ll be far from here.”

“You know I can’t—” Yeosang starts. 

“I know. But you only have to come back once a year, right?”

“It’s just not feasible.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I wish my family never moved here.”

“That was years before you were born. You couldn’t have changed anything.”

“I know.”

The stars are bright. The sand is coarse, under his fingers. He wishes he could feel it for real again. But he knows he can’t. 

It’s just not the same.)

* * *

It’s Saturday, so San goes to visit the library.

“A town directory?” Mingi echoes, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

San stumbles over his response, because it’s a little bit difficult to explain, and Mingi clearly doesn’t buy it but leads him to one anyway. It’s not like San _lied,_ okay, it’s just a weird situation to be in. 

“It took a while to compile it,” Mingi says when San takes the book. “Hongjoong helped, but…” the bottom of the front cover says _Song Mingi._ Town historian indeed. “Anyway, be careful. Don’t look up the wrong person.”

What does that mean? This isn’t a search engine, it’s not like there’s anything recording the history of what pages were open, or something. He shakes his head, and takes it to a table. There’s no one in his range of vision but he feels a little like he’s being watched. A camera, maybe?

Regardless. He opens the book. _Updated_ _2017 2018 2019_ _2020._ There’s a page for families, first, and San finds a few “Choi”s, so he keeps a finger marking that page and flips to the first one. He doesn’t recognize any names, so he keeps going. The third _Choi_ entry is the right one, and San pauses for a moment to admire the little demon caricature on the top corner, accompanied by messy handwriting saying “hey man don’t insult demons like this”.

Relatable. 

He notes that page down, then flips to the back. There he finds a list of people who lived in Haven by first names. It is… a surprisingly short list. San wonders if it’s incomplete, if Mingi’s still working on it. 

He checks the Yeo’s and finds, surprisingly, only two Yeosangs. The first one is from the 1100’s (Haven has early records, wow), so he checks the other. No birthdate, interestingly enough. 

_Kang,_ the given page says. The entry only takes up a quarter of the page, unlike what San saw of his own family’s. No known blood or marital relations. Just _Kang Yeosang, unknown–May 5th, 1956._ _2018 10th Street. Cause of death: hunting accident._

San wonders if the chill is from reading, or his ghost friend has some things to say about him looking up his friend. Regardless, the “hunting accident” should be innocuous but San’s still a little shaken from what Mingi told him before. _There was a hunting accident. Two of his close friends died because of it._

But Wooyoung’s definitely not old enough to have known Kang Yeosang, so… have there been multiple “accidents”? But then, that one dream. The dream with the singing. 

_It’s a wonder you aren’t one of us._

_Youngie!_

Okay. Coincidence, it has to be. Nothing else makes sense. It’s not like Yeosang said “Wooyoung”, and “young” isn’t exactly an uncommon second syllable for a name. It has to be a coincidence. 

Right?

But then… San has a ghost following him around, weird things are clearly possible. Maybe Wooyoung _has_ lived that long. Maybe.

San turns back to his family’s entry. He recognizes all the names—his is there but his sister’s isn’t, which he expected given she hasn’t been to Haven before—except one. 

“Found you,” he breathes, eyes glued to the page. No way. No fucking _way._

_Choi Jongho._ _October 12, 1936–May 5th, 1956._

_1117 Lorelei Drive._

_Cause of death: hunting accident._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooyoung wont be like that the entire time im sorry woosan stans TT
> 
> (do you know how much it pains me to continuously refer to jisung as han? well now you do adfjlkadlj hhhhhhhhhhhh)


	2. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san is surprisingly chill about his numerous world-altering realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna post on monday but idk,,, i kinda just want it out. i struggled a bit with this chapter 
> 
> (Dokkaebi aren’t important it’s just a goblin idk i was gonna make it a redcap but those are way more violent so i didnt)
> 
> borrowed han (jisung), changbin, and chan from skz, and yeonjun from txt,, forgot to mention that last time
> 
> cw san mentions drinking a daiquiri. mentions of blood and death. also like,, captivity? past kidnapping?

When San was thirteen, he’d been asked to write about the most interesting place he’s ever been, for a school project. He’d gotten it into his head that he had to write about Haven. Haven. Of all places. He couldn’t remember jack shit about it, but it’s one of the only places that stuck out to him as  _ interesting.  _ He could’ve talked about Busan. About the summers spent on their prettiest beaches. But Kim Yerim—the prettiest girl in his grade—was writing about her family vacation to Osaka, and Lucas Wong—the prettiest  _ boy  _ in his grade—was writing about his hometown Hong Kong, and San was so set on impressing them that he knew he had to do one better.

He'd been to Haven. He could point it out on a map. He had a distinct impression that it was cooler than anything Kim Yerim or Lucas Wong or any of their friends could come up with. But he couldn’t remember a single detail of his trip. So he’d gone to his parents, asking about it.

Bad move.

He’d been yelled out of the room, their words— _ we don’t talk about that damn town, don’t ever bring it up again, you forgot for a reason don’t go looking— _ following him out.

He never asked about Haven again.

When he was settling affairs with his lawyer, Taehyung had asked him if there’s anything he wanted to take care of immediately, in case they lost and San and his sister ended up back under his parents’ umbrella. The first and only thought he’d had was that maybe,  _ maybe _ going to Haven himself and seeing what is so special about it would help. Maybe.

What a clusterfuck that’s turning out to be.

While looking through the book he confirmed that Mingi, at least, is of a normal human age range. There’s a startling amount of unknown birth dates. You’d think Mingi would be able to approximate, but maybe it’s a thing. A tactic to hide people like Wooyoung (Jung Wooyoung, no address, Unknown-Present) whose ages are maybe a little larger than can be rationalized away.

San digresses. 

He heads over to Han’s store, for lack of a better direction. He has a lead, but he doesn’t know how to follow it up without freaking people out, and maybe he  _ will _ find something he, in Han’s words, “didn’t know he needed”.

_ Levanter  _ is hidden, compared to the rest of the stores he’d seen. It’s tucked into an alley by the water. San follows Changbin’s directions to the letter but he still almost gets lost.

It’s pretty inside. Not really what San expected, but pretty. The windows are partially a strange glass pattern that casts rainbow lights on the walls. The tables are covered with random objects, and the shelves full of mason jars and bottles—it’s clutter, kind of, but organized clutter. San swears he sees the garden gnome statue in the corner move for a split second before freezing back to porcelain. It wears a large key ring as a necklace. There are so many plants on the wall behind the cash register that it looks like it’s just entirely made of green.

Han stands out starkly against the soft backdrop of the store, chunky black Doc Martens propped up on the register and practically drowning in his black hoodie. Their gazes meet. 

Did it just get colder in here? San’s pretty sure it just got colder. He feels locked in, like he’s a fish on a fillet table and Han’s wielding a knife. Which is fine. Everything about this is fine. San’s not panicking at all.

And then the feeling is gone. “Sup,” Han says, waving like he hadn’t noticed a thing. 

“Thought I’d stop by,” San says. He’s proud that his voice isn’t shaking. “It’s pretty in here.”

“Thanks!” Han smiles. Again, San can’t tell if he’s being genuine about it. “Look around, if you want. Let me know if anything catches your attention.” He turns back to his notebook.

Okay, what the  _ hell _ was that? San’s not about to ask. He’s not taking that bait. 

Haha, bait? Fish? Get it?

He came in doubting that he’d leave wanting to buy something, but he’s proved pleasantly wrong. Something is really,  _ really _ drawing him towards the keys. He’s a bit wary of the gnome, so he avoids looking at them for now, but he keeps an eye on them. 

It’s interesting. The items seem to glitter, seem to twinkle in the corner of his eye like they’re actively trying to catch his attention, but he keeps himself focused. The only things that actually register on his radar are the keys, a ball of string, a shell, and the dark section of the table that’s covered with a cloth. 

It feels a bit like a Pottermore test, if he’s being honest. 

He chances a glance at Han, but he’s absorbed in whatever he’s doing in his notebook. 

The cloth slides away easily, revealing a book.  _ History, _ it says on the front. Nothing else. The cover is black, and looks handmade. He flips it over.  _ Grimoire, _ it says, the word upside down. 

_ “Again,” his mother says. _

San shakes himself. Huh?

_ “AGAIN.” A book sits open on the table. It’s definitely a different book—size and thickness give that away, it’s much more thin—but it’s similar.  _

Han’s still not looking.

_ “I can’t,” he cries, something inside him BURNING him from the inside out. There’s something behind him, if he could only bring himself to turn and look. It’s important. He knows it’s important. “Mom I don’t want to it hurts please—” _

_ “Sannie,” she says gently, kneeling down in front of him. Her smile is weird. He pulls back, tries to run, but her grip on him is iron. She takes hold of him, turns him to face— “You can.” _

“Anything?”

San startles. Han is  _ right next to him, _ how did San not notice him get up? “Uh,” he stammers. The book is no longer in his hand. He doesn’t know when he put it down.  _ If  _ he put it down. “I don’t… I don’t know?”

Han frowns. “Really?”

San nods. “I mean, the string is interesting and I think I need a key but the gnome is—”

Han snorts. “Just take a key. It won’t bite.”

The gnome’s eyes seem to follow him as he approaches, glaring. San searches the keyring quickly, extracts an ornate one with the same swirl-and-lion as the others in his possesion. He places it on the counter. 

Han glances down at it, then up at him. Something shifts. San wonders if this is what it would feel like if Superman tried to see down to your bones. Han’s unnerving, and the blank expression isn’t helping. “This isn’t your first time around, is it.”

“What?” San balks. “What do you mean?”

More silence. The seconds drip by as fast as molasses, while Han just continues to stare. San has the distinct feeling that he’s just chosen a bad dialogue option in an RPG. 

Liminal space always seemed neutral, timeless but neutral. This is sort of the bad version of that, San thinks, because he’s pretty sure the seconds hand of the clock on the wall just went backwards, and Han’s still staring. 

“Nevermind,” Han says. He tilts his head, smiles. It’s unnerving.  _ “Choi—” _ he starts, and something about his voice is  _ different, _ San’s heartrate kicks up and he reacts without thinking, bringing his hands up to his face and hooking a finger behind his ear— _ deflect. _ He can’t let Han finish speaking. 

Han chokes on his words. 

The store convulses, and he yelps, because his body folds in on itself, everything twisting, turning, bending, zipping, like he’s being rejected by the fabric of reality itself, and then he’s spit out just outside the door.

Staring up at the storefront. 

No sign of life inside.

The sign on the door’s flipped to closed.

What the fuck.

In front of him on the ground is the key, the ball of string he’d been eyeing, and a note. He picks them up slowly. 

_ Free of charge _ , the note says.  _ Good luck. _

* * *

Strange happenings on the backburner for now until he has the mental capacity to deal with them, San can only think about the visions he saw. His mom’s a pretty cold person, but that was… San shudders thinking about it. He’d never seen that kind of behavior from her. Never. It must be a memory from the summer in Haven, but why the hell would it come back now? What triggered it?

The book?

_ “DO IT!” _

_ “I can’t,” he says. “I  _ can’t,  _ I can’t—” _

_ It’s not burning him anymore. He has a knife in his hand and his parents—both of them—are standing behind him. The waves crash somewhere nearby but he can’t tear his eyes away.  _

What the actual hell is happening?

He stumbles a little as he enters the property. He’s just about to continue up to the house when his eyes land on the path to the grave. 

Maybe he’ll find his answers there.

The path is in the same state it was last time San visited the clearing, and that’s definitely a good sign, because anything else and he’d be doubly worried about fae. As it is, he emerges into the clearing to find the ring and the cross. He just wants  _ confirmation  _ that there’s something going on. That’s it. Confirmation. Whatever the hell he did with the hand sign was weird but not weird enough to be  _ complete _ confirmation.

He doesn’t manage to even reach the ring before he’s clutching his head in pain. Searing, blinding pain jumps through his body, until his brain feels like it’s pulsing out of his skull. 

_ San steps into the ring,  _ but he doesn’t.

_ Idiot. You know better than this.  _ It’s painful. He lurches away from the ring. Don’t step in. You know what happens if you step in. 

_ Greyscale. Fades. Blue. Peach. Red. Fingernails. Words.  _ It’s on the tip of his tongue. It is, it is. He tries to remember but his head is full of soup and cotton.

_ What does he know? _

_ Find Yeosang. _

_ FIND YEOSANG. _

* * *

( _ A woman with a tail like a fish. Squirming but held in place. _

_ Jongho, inches from his face, eyes wide and panicked. _

_ He screams. His entire being explodes outwards but he still exists. The Dokkaebi deflects but. Yunho’s nose bleeds. Mingi slams into a tree. All he can hear is ringing. _

_ Greyscale. _

He’s standing on the cliff. The house is no longer there, but he can see places where walls used to be, concrete jagged in the dirt like someone stabbed the earth with broken glass. The pantry still stands, shelves sliding left and right in the storm that’s suddenly ravaging the land. Waves crash up high enough on the cliff for San to be worried. He takes a step back. 

Everything’s white. Like an odd, washed out world, retaining every shape and texture but no color. Different from the blinding light, but at once the same.

Jongho stands in front of him. His mouth moves, but San can’t hear him over the crash and crack of water and thunder. 

“CELLAR,” he hears, finally, when Jongho times his words to the silence in the music the storm’s creating. “CHECK THE CELLAR.”

A man in chains, gagged, a promise.  _ Two keys. _

“Where?” San yells the question, but Jongho either can’t hear or doesn’t want to answer because he just yells again,  _ CELLAR _ , and then in the next flash of lightning he’s gone. 

The pantry still stands. The shelves slide left and right.

The cliff begins to erode.)

* * *

He wakes up face down in the dirt. “My head,” he groans, and when he stands he clutches at his chest because  _ fuck, ow. _

The sun’s going down, by now. His phone says 6:25pm. It was 3 when he left  _ Levanter _ . He lost three hours? Shit.

He’s always been open to the idea of non-humans like faeries existing. But between this and whatever the hell happened at  _ Levanter, _ he’s a hell of a lot more convinced. The mer—she was a mermaid, right? Her and the Dokkaebi. And the magic. Yunho and Mingi were there but San hadn’t met them before his trip now, so what…?

This also means it’s infinitely more likely that Wooyoung’s been alive long enough to know both San’s deceased relative and the person who is apparently  _ locked in his family’s house’s cellar.  _ And Wooyoung’s not exactly an octogenarian, so either Kang Yeosang is  _ also  _ still alive and looking no older than 20, or he’s died from malnutrition. San’s not sure which would make him feel better. Neither? 

_ Focus. _ He has both keys, now. Probably. He can go find the cellar. 

He’ll deal with his possible monster-hunter initiation later. Mingi’ll know something, right?

“I’m going on an adventure,” he tells Byeol, planting himself in front of the pantry shelves. Left and right. They’d swayed left and right. 

He pulls them in several ways before he finally gets it. The shelves swing to the side and yeah, there’s a dark concrete staircase leading downwards. He knows what’s waiting for him, and unless Jongho’s trying to kill him (unlikely, given how often he’s tried to keep him alive) he’s fairly certain there won’t be any surprises. Though, he supposes he can’t be too hard on himself for being nervous to meet someone who’s been so far hurt by his family that San can’t even begin to list the reasons Yeosang might hate him. 

He begins to descend. (He leaves Byeol on the other side of the door with strict instructions not to follow. If he gets killed, at least she’ll be ok.)

The air smells warm, and odd, and something about it activates his fight/flight instinct and makes him want to  _ run.  _ His phone flashlight is enough to illuminate the stairs but not enough to fill the yawning cavern that makes up the cellar. He hits the bottom of the stairs and finds the lightswitch. 

The lights turn on with the loud buzzing of multiple fluorescent bulbs. He has to blink the spots out of his eyes as they adjust, but he manages to clear his vision quickly, and looks around.

The walls are mossy, the metal shelves are rusting and the wooden shelves are rotting. Various things fill jars, and diagrams line the walls where the shelves don’t cover. And in the corner—

_ Fuck. _

San doesn’t jump, but his heart speeds up significantly when he spots him. 

In the corner of the room is a man. At first glance San thinks he’s just sitting—naked, but just sitting—but as the man simply blinks slowly at him, he realizes that his head is ducked to attempt to hide a gag. And his hands are down and to the side to keep the shackles out of San’s focus. 

The man tilts his head slowly, appraising him. 

Yeah. 

San recognizes him.

That’s definitely the Yeosang from Jongho’s memories, which means he’s been alive since before 1956  _ and _ he’s spent at  _ least _ thirteen years without food and water. Definitely not human. 

And Yeosang looks about the same as he did in the dream. Except the chains are a far cry from the shiny metal from before, and his skin is… well.

There’s rusty brown matting his hair, trailing down his face. Rusty brown streaked on his neck. Rusty brown on his legs and his torso and his arms. It’s blood. San knows that instinctively. The blood is old. Very old. And where Yeosang isn’t caked in old crusting blood, he’s sporting layers of grime.

“Hi,” San says, before swallowing when he realizes Yeosang won’t be able to respond. “Shit.”

Yeosang’s eyes crinkle, like he’s laughing. 

He steels himself. Yeosang doesn’t seem too inclined to swipe at him (and isn’t in much shape to attempt anything even if he wanted to) so he figures he’s safe to get closer. “Okay, I’m coming over.”

He picks his way across the floor. His shoes are thick soled, but he doesn’t want to have to pull shards out of the rubber when he escapes back upstairs. Yeosang leisurely tracks his progress, head sort of swinging back and forth, like he lacks the necessary muscles to completely control his movements. 

“Okay,” San says when he’s close enough. “I’m going to touch your face.”

Yeosang merely blinks. San takes that as a go ahead. 

The gag is… not just a gag. 

San frowns as he pulls at the straps, but they’re unforgiving. “Fuck,” he says, giving up. He checks the shackles, because maybe Yeosang will know how to get the thing off, but they’re locked with a heavy looking deadlock. 

That’s the first key, then. 

He pulls out the key from the generator. It fits the lock, thankfully, and Yeosang makes a noise that might be surprise when he sees it. The shackles come off. San tries the ones on his ankles as well, and surprisingly the key fits there too. But if both shackles were one key, then where does the second key go?

Yeosang makes a strangled noise, jerking forward when he attempts to stand. San hurries to catch him, heart skipping a beat when he nearly lurches face first into the ground. “Careful, careful, oh my god—”

Yeosang steadies, and blinks at San balefully. 

“When was the last time you stood?” San asks pointedly. “You’re going to need to rebuild up the muscle before you can walk, please be careful.”

Yeosang jabs a finger at the gag and makes a put-key-into-lock-turn-key motion. 

“Lock on the gag?” San asks. Yeosang nods. “Okay, I have the second key. I hope.”

If he was wrong he’s gonna have to go back to Han. And, well, he doesn’t think he left that connection on a particularly friendly note.

Yeosang stands absolutely still to let San look at the gag more closely. The thing is weird. He’s not sure how to describe it. It has latches and straps and screws he’s pretty sure are unnecessary, and the straps are strong, inelastic. The muzzle portion—and that’s what it is, not just a gag but a muzzle—is metal, surprisingly. San wonders how that keeps Yeosang’s voice in, if there’s some form of cushioning underneath. 

In the front, San finds a small keyhole right where Yeosang’s mouth would be. “There’s the lock,” San says. He touches it, and only realizes how close their faces are when Yeosang huffs, squinting down at him irritatedly. “Sorry,” San mumbles, retreating a little. He pulls out the key. “Fingers crossed.”

He’s pretty sure he sees Yeosang actually do it, which is kind of adorable, but he focuses on the key and the lock and turning the key and turning and turning and turning and. San pauses. 

Yeosang makes a small noise, and twisting motions with his hands. “Turn it more?” He nods as best as he can with San holding the gag. So San turns it more. And more. And more. He turns it until it stops turning, and that’s a long time. 

Yeosang makes another muffled noise, but it’s much more audible this time—so he’s making progress, at least. It doesn’t seem like the key did anything for the outside of the gag, but evidently it changed something inside. With the amount of turning, in the front of the thing… San has a sick feeling in his stomach about what he was unlocking. 

The straps release this time, when he pulls at them. The gag comes off.

Yeosang blinks at it, and takes a few moments to close his mouth. Meanwhile, San’s bad feeling is proved right. 

He turns the key back around, and watches as the scrunched up silicone on the mouthpiece elongates, extending to a length that San’s certain would have rested in Yeosang’s throat. This… this is a torture device, more than a gag. He drops it like it’s scalding.

“Thank you,” Yeosang rasps. He makes a few weird faces, stretching his jaw. San can hear a few concerning creaking sounds. Honestly, he’s surprised he can talk at all.

“I’m San,” San says. “I found records, so I—you’re Kang Yeosang, right?”

Yeosang considers him carefully. “...Choi San?”

“Yeah,” San says. It’s probably an educated guess. It is his family’s house, after all. 

“Yeah. I’m Yeosang,” Yeosang says. He’s still contemplating something, and runs his tongue over his teeth as he does it, eyes hazy. “What… what year is it?”

“2020,” San says. “Do you think we can get you up the stairs? You’ve been here for… for a while. I can uh… you should eat something. And drink water.”

“Water,” Yeosang agrees, somewhat fervently for someone who’s been pretty out of it for their entire interaction. “Stairs should be fine, if you help.”

San doesn’t miss the death grip Yeosang has on his arm and the railing as they walk, like he’s scared San will just let go, but he’s clearly willing to trust that this isn’t a trick, even if it’s only to an extent, and from the way the keys were scattered San would bet that it’s because no one’s ever let him out of the gag. 

He didn’t think it was possible, but he hates his family just a bit more. 

“Water,” San repeats, after depositing Yeosang onto a kitchen chair. Byeol meows loudly at them from the counter. She quiets when Yeosang looks at her, though, and slowly reaches out to boop his nose with a paw. Yeosang lets her.

San tears himself from that strange image and gets Yeosang some water. “You’ll get sick if you drink too fast,” he warns.

Yeosang ignores him and drinks greedily, not that San can blame him. He doesn’t let a single drop spill until the end. “More,” he says, and that one drip slides off his lip, down his chin, onto his neck. It doesn’t make a dent in the grime. 

“I don’t think—”

“Please,” Yeosang says.

San refills it a few times before he slows down, and finally Yeosang sets the glass down still half full. “Thank you,” he says. He seems fine, despite the speed and amount he’s drunk, so San doesn’t comment. It’s probably a thing specific to his species.

“Please don’t thank me,” San says, heading over to the corner of the kitchen with the closet of extra bedding. He pulls out a blanket, because although he doubts Yeosang cares much about his state of undress at this point, it’s probably cold. 

“Choi San,” Yeosang says again, blinking hazily at him. San stops, on his way over to give him the blanket. “I didn't recognize you. It’s been a while.”

What? 

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I have  _ no  _ idea what you’re talking about,” San says. 

“Some years ago… 2007? Your grandfather brought you down to see me. Called me a bunch of names, but, well. You didn’t seem to care what he thought.”

“I don’t remember my entire trip here,” San whispers. And he wishes, now more than ever, that he could. Maybe it’d shed some insight onto why Yeosang’s here. “I’m sorry, I—I should have done something. Told someone.”

“No,” Yeosang interrupts, panicked. “Don’t tell, please, you  _ can’t. _ ”

“I won’t,” San assures him, handing him the blanket awkwardly because maybe that’ll provide comfort, since San doubts Yeosang wants him near enough to hug him. “I promise, none of them are anywhere near Haven right now.”

And fuck there’s a lot to unpack there. 

San  _ knows _ his family isn’t full of the best people. Frankly, this whole trip—this whole year has been an exercise in facing that he comes from a line of shitty people. It took a long time for him to accept that because they loved him, and they showed him their best face because of that, but he knows they could be… not great. To say the least. He knew before he came here, but it was easier to ignore. This is probably good. No more denial.

“Did Jongho…” San doesn’t know how to end the question. Did Jongho look for the keys? Did Jongho visit after that one time? Did Jongho escape his family but fail to free Yeosang in time? 

How did Jongho die?

“He visited me once,” Yeosang says quietly. He looks down at his hands. “He promised to free me, but his dad caught him sneaking back up the stairs. I think they k… he died a month after. I don’t know how. His dad came by to gloat about it, because I cared more about him than his family ever did.” 

Yeosang’s cup falls off the counter. Byeol swipes at it belatedly, but close enough that Yeosang must believe it was her, because he starts apologizing, saying he shouldn’t have put the glass too close to the cat, but.

“It’s fine,” San insists, and bends down to pick up the pieces. He doesn’t know where a broom is. He’ll have to use a wet paper towel for the smaller shards, but he still might miss some and Yeosang’s barefoot. “I should’ve warned you about her.” He scrapes himself a little, on one of the bigger pieces. His thumb wells up with blood. There’s a cold feeling in his hand, like Jongho’s holding it. San takes it as an apology.

“I’m sorry,” Yeosang says again. 

San waves him off. “I have plenty more cups.”

Yeosang nods, and waits for him to throw the glass in the trash to continue. “I think he tried to look for the keys, because I could feel them land in the ocean, sometime before he died. I only managed to salvage one.”

Salvage? San’s confusion must show, because Yeosang grimaces. “The generator is hydro powered. You got the key, so I assume you saw the thing.” Yeah. He’d thought it was put together weird. “It’s me taking the water and directing it through. And I run the water in the house itself. Not… voluntarily. They have me running a lot of things.”

Oh, great. Now San wants to go through the entire house turning everything the fuck off. He’ll take baths in the fucking ocean if he has to. Jesus. “How do we disconnect you from that?”

Yeosang squints up at him. Maybe he hadn’t expected that. But San’s not going to force him to run this entire fucking house if he doesn’t want to, and he can’t see any reason for him wanting to. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to leave until I am, though.”

Great. “Do you think there’re candles somewhere in this glorified concrete block?”

Yeosang snorts. “I’m sure there are, but for now don’t worry about it. I’ve been expending that energy for so long that I’ve forgotten how it feels to not. I’ll be fine, while we figure out how to disconnect me.”

“I don’t want—“ San protests.

“It’ll be too much hassle,” Yeosang points out. “Research by candlelight? Without running water for drinking and cooking and showers? I can handle it.”

San wants to argue more, but Yeosang seems adamant. And he’s right—the electricity situation alone they could probably deal with, but no water would be an issue.

Speaking of water.

“I can show you to a bathroom, so you can shower,” San says. “Do you think you can… will you be ok?”

He should be. San hopes. Because of what he said about the ocean, and because he chugged so much water, he’s probably aquatic. And the gag… someone clearly didn’t want him to talk. 

Siren?

San worries for a split second, but he’s pretty sure siren-song only works as long as he can hear it, and Yeosang’s been quiet. Also, thinking like that’s probably… specisist?.

Yeosang grimaces. “I can probably do a bath on my own, but I don’t particularly feel like swimming in a tub of my own blood.”

Yeah, ew. “I can help,” San offers. “I know it’s kind of weird, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t fall and hit your head or something.”

“I’ve had enough head injuries,” Yeosang agrees, and San’s gaze strays back up to the patch of dried blood by his temple. 

They take one look at the bathroom and decide to use the tub anyway. There’s a showerhead connected to it, so if Yeosang sits and San helps or just stands by to make sure he doesn’t drop it on himself then there’s minimal risk of injury. 

At first, he sits to the side while Yeosang tries to scrub the blood off, but his grip strength is shot because the towel keeps dropping to the ground. By the eighth time this happens, Yeosang just stares at the towel, and his hair obscures his face so San can’t tell but he thinks he might be crying. 

“I’ll do it,” San says, waiting a moment for an acknowledgement—Yeosang nods—and stepping forward and picking the towel up himself. He takes the showerhead, which Yeosang hadn’t even tried to pick up yet, maybe worried about dropping it as well. 

Yeosang just sits, completely still, and lets San wash him. His head stays bowed until San gently tilts it back to shampoo his hair. He doesn’t say a word until it’s over.

* * *

San reheats some leftovers and they eat together mostly in silence.

“I don’t want you to tell people I’m alive,” Yeosang says to his rice. 

Probably a good idea. “It might get back to my family, so yeah. I was going to suggest keeping it between only a few people. I could tell—”

“No,” Yeosang interrupts. He taps his fingers nervously on the side of his bowl, glancing out the window. “Haven’s a waterfront town. There’s very few places the ocean can’t listen in. You shouldn’t risk it.”

That’s certainly a concept. 

“I’ll tell no one, then. If you’re sure that’s what you want.” 

Yeosang nods. 

They finish fairly quickly, and San shows Yeosang to a room he can use, as well as where San’s staying if he needs him. That… was an oversight, because honestly San’s gotten so used to the room that he completely forgot he’s been sleeping in what was probably Jongho’s. Yeosang stands still when he sees it, barely breathing, and San gives him a moment. 

_ Romeo and Juliet,  _ San had thought of the letters. 

“Wait a second.” 

Yeosang hovers in the doorway as San retrieves the key and the box. He leaves the pictures and the rest of the paper, because he isn’t sure what exactly Jongho wanted Yeosang to have, but he hands him the letter. “I found this earlier. I think he meant for you to have it.”

Yeosang stares at the paper. He hasn’t even opened it yet and he’s white as a sheet. 

“You might want to read it in private,” San prompts. “And maybe sleep on it? I’m going to go back into town for about an hour, but I’ll be back soon. Wake me up if you need me.” 

Yeosang startles out of his reverie. “Uh, yeah. I will.”

When he heads off to bed, it’s almost robotic. San wonders if he should comfort him, but figures it’d be overstepping. Yeosang doesn’t know how much San knows about Jongho, and San doubts he’s in the mood to share.

* * *

“Another, please. Thanks.” 

Mingi sits back slowly, watching as San drains his third smoothie of the night. San had cut himself off at one frozen daiquiri, because he does have self restraint, thank you. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” San slams the glass down like you would a pint of beer, or maybe mead. His thought process is a little fuzzy right now. He’s been through a lot these past few days, okay. He deserves to drink himself into a smoothie stupor. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

Hongjoong, who’s been watching the entire thing with his arms folded like a disappointed parent, snorts. “Clearly.” Mingi must kick him or something, because he squeaks and contorts his body away. “Hey!”

San grunts, ignoring them. “It’s been a long week.”

“Anything I can help with?” Mingi asks.

“Yeah,” San says. “So, uh, I don’t remember my trip here.” 

Hongjoong frowns, but Mingi understands right away. “When you were a kid?”

“Yeah. I literally have zero memory of what happened. But by now,” San takes a dramatic sip. “I’ve figured out a few things. So. Do you know what they made me do?”

“That’s vague,” Hongjoong says. But he knows what San’s talking about. 

“Hunter initiation,” San says, flat out. Hands open, no tricks. All cards on the table. (Well, most cards. Some cards.) It’s been, what, half a day? He’s already tired of dancing around the subject. “What did they make me do?”

Hongjoong sucks a breath through his teeth. The two of them exchange a glance. 

San thinks about it, and makes a spontaneous decision that might bite him in the ass—but if it does, so be it. He’ll extend the olive branch. “I told you my parents aren’t coming back any time soon,” San says to Mingi. “They—hm. They’re tangled up in some legal stuff. I’m refusing to testify for them and that in itself is pretty incriminating.”

Mingi whistles lowly. “Damn.”

“They’re good at talking themselves out of stuff.” He spreads his fingers, draws them through the condensation left from the glass. “I heard someone say they could talk themselves out of a crossroads deal. Used to think it was hyperbole, but.”

Hongjoong nods, and takes the metaphorical branch. “They didn’t  _ make _ you do anything. You refused to do it, and you kept refusing until they gave up. You were never initiated because you didn’t want it. Which surprised me, when I heard about it.” He glances at Mingi, then back at San. “Usually, humans who grow up in an environment like yours will believe that monsters are evil no matter how much they beg you to spare their life.”

Mingi says nothing, but his knuckles turn white where he’s gripping the table. Hongjoong pries his hand off and threads their fingers together, but San doesn’t at all miss the implications there. 

“That’s the thing,” San says.  _ “I didn’t grow up like that. _ I didn’t know for sure that the supernatural was real until  _ today.” _

“I thought—”

“We all thought.” Hongjoong rubs his temple. “You really knew nothing?”

“I’m assuming they told me when I was last here, but like I said. I don’t remember that trip at all.”

“Initiation’s your first kill, and in Haven it’s always, always mer,” Mingi says abruptly. He looks to the side. “It’s a whole ceremony. There’s a rock, on the beach by your house. It’s big and flat. An older hunter, a ‘mentor’, will catch—” his voice hitches. 

Hongjoong squeezes his hand. “You don't have to stay.”

As much as San would like him to, Hongjoong probably has the right idea. Mingi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and San wants— _ needs _ —to know more. San pushes aside his own reservations about skinship and offers him a hug before he goes, and Mingi takes it. He seems a little lighter after that, relieved maybe, and gives San a watery smile before heading out. 

“He’s not initiated,” Hongjoong says before San can ask. “Came close, though. His ‘mentor’ was from out of town and didn’t realize that Han would very literally tear them apart for so much as looking at Changbin, much less what they attempted.” 

San shudders. He can see that. 

“Luckily for Mingi, Han has a complex about kids. He dropped him back off to his parents and warned them off pulling a stunt like that again. Your family,” Hongjoong mulls over his words, picking them carefully. “Your family’s relationship with fae is complicated, so they usually get away with it. No one here is strong enough to resist them except those of us with fae inclinations, and those of us with fae inclinations can’t get involved without them involving us first.”

“And the town puts up with that? Collectively?”

Hongjoong shrugs. “What could they do? In the end, your family was driven out. That’s enough, for now.”

“So then what about me?” San asks. “Do you know, or do you have any guesses why I forgot the entire initiation trip? I thought maybe it went wrong, and that’s why they—we—were driven out, but if what you heard is right…”

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong says. “I don’t even really know why you were allowed back in.”

San nods. “I appreciate the honesty.”

Hongjoong’s mouth twitches into a half smile. “You never say thank you.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

Hongjoong laughs, big and bright and mirthful. “Cute. You advertise your name but won’t say thanks.”

Point. “No one’s used it yet.” Well. Han tried. San blocked it. He has a feeling, though, that if Han tries again, he won’t be able to block it fast enough. “You’re fae, then?”

Hongjoong tilts his head, acknowledging. “I wouldn’t go around asking people’s species, if I were you.”

“It would look like I’m hunting.” San sighs. “I don’t want to violate species specific customs. Or get killed for thanking the wrong person.”

“Just be a decent person,” Hongjoong says. “You’ll be fine.”

San shrugs. “Well. It was nice of you to talk with me.”

Hongjoong waves a hand. “Nah, I wasn’t doing anything important.” He pauses. “Seonghwa probably just sneezed. Seriously though, if you don’t need anything else I should get going. I can walk you to the edge of town if you want?”

“I’ll be fine,” San says, ignoring the probably unintended innuendo. “Go on. But if you need me to listen to your problems ever, you’re welcome to ask. Will Mingi be okay?”

“I’ll check on him. Don’t worry.” Hongjoong pats San’s shoulder as he leaves. It kind of tingles. San wonders if he should be worried.

“Hey, before you go—did you know Choi Jongho?”

“No,” Hongjoong lies, blatantly. “Sorry.” San knows he’s lying. Hongjoong knows San knows he’s lying. But San can’t tell why he knows, so it’s not like he can confront him about it. Add that to the laundry list of shit he needs to figure out before he leaves Haven.

“Unfortunate,” he says. “Kang Yeosang?”

Hongjoong hesitates. It’s brief, but it’s there. “No.” Another lie.

San might’ve tipped his hand a little too far there. Hongjoong’s frown is too appraising for his comfort. But would it be so bad if Hongjoong figured it out? Then at least he’d have someone in the know. Right now he has no one to ask about what the hell to do about the kidnapping victim he found in his basement. He kind of wishes he could call his lawyer, honestly. 

San finishes his drink slowly, savoring it, and maybe procrastinating going back home a little bit, but it’s apparently slow enough that someone decides to approach, now that he’s alone.

“Hey,” the man says, smiling and leaning close enough that San is reasonably certain he’s flirting. “You look lonely. Need company?”

“Uh,” San says, with unfailing social grace. 

“I’m Yeonjun,” the man says. He slides into the seat next to San without waiting for an answer. “San, right? People are talking about you.”

“All unflattering things, I’m sure,” San says drily. 

Yeonjun laughs. “Some, yeah. I’ve heard a few good things. Lia from the grocery store says you’re polite when you check out. And you didn’t poison my friend’s food earlier this week, so that’s always a plus.” 

“Ah,” San says. “Yeah.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but you looked kind of sad when I came over. I get it if you’re not in the mood to put up with me. But talking to strangers is known to help, y’know? If you want to rant about anything, I’m all ears.”

And shit, San kind of wants to. For all the eggshells he walks on with everyone in Haven, he’s really, really tempted. Yeonjun just seems so nice.

But it’s a small town. Anything he says to him will make its rounds easily by morning. “I’m sure that’s the last thing you came out here for,” he says instead, and stands. He settles his tab quickly as Yeonjun watches. 

“I don’t mind,” Yeonjun says. He pouts convincingly. San thinks for a second, and he really could use someone to talk to, and Yeonjun  _ does _ seem trustworthy, so he starts to sit down.

His shoulder tingles. It’s a pins-and-needles feeling, gradually getting harsher as he doesn’t react to it—until it feels like a shock, just as his butt lands on the chair. He flinches a little, blinking rapidly as his head clears.  _ Oh. _

He stands. “Uh, no, it’s okay. Thanks.” No part of him wants to tell Yeonjun anything, yet he sat back down. Cloudy mind. Possibly… possibly siren. Which means he might know Yeosang, and San  _ had _ just said his name. This is definitely not a making-friends situation.

Yeonjun looks troubled as he leaves, but that’s the least of his problems. 

* * *

(The storm, again. Nothing is standing. San shields his eyes, tries to look out at the water, but all he sees are angry clouds. 

“You were right, by the way.”

Jongho stands next to him, now. San turns to look. 

“The grave is mine.”

The waves roll into the rocks below. The cliff continues to erode. 

“They blessed me at my funeral. They knew what it would do to me.” 

“The cross.” 

“The cross,” Jongho agrees. “Distorted the ring. If you had entered it like you were planning to, the rotted magic inside would have killed you.”

The trees blow back, flattening down like there was a large gust of wind originating from the two of them. San’s reminded of something. Deja vu. 

“Every time he talks about my death, it gets harder to listen,” Jongho says. He tilts his head back to look at the blackened clouds above them. “Watch out for Yeonjun.”

“What—”

“Remember what I told you. Yeosang’s twofold bound. Spell first, then ritual. And no one can know he’s alive. Not yet.”

San’s pulled away before he can ask when the hell he’s ever told him that.)

* * *

“What’s the difference between a ritual and a spell?”

Yeosang blinks, caught off guard, not expecting to be ambushed by a very frantic San this early in the morning. “Spell is tied to an object, ritual doesn’t leave anything behind…?” He seems much more lively now, and he can walk on his own, which is good. San wonders if he went for a soak in the tub and absorbed water, or something. Whatever mer do to recharge. “Temporary magic, magic you have to consciously think about to keep working, are incantations regardless if you actually say them aloud. Spells and rituals last without constant focus.”

San never actually confirmed the mer thing, did he? Is there even a good way to ask? 

Wait. “Can humans cast spells?” He thinks aloud. 

“Some can, if they learn. Hunters usually can’t. Even if they have the ability, they generally reject it so hard they couldn’t get it back if they wanted to,” Yeosang says. He stifles a yawn. “But your family… it’s not widely known, but while I was here I saw some of them do magic.” 

“I’m tired of my family being special,” San grumps. He heads off to the second floor. Maybe there’ll be something there. 

Yeosang trails after him, still yawning every five seconds. “You’re looking for a spell?”

San stops. “Hey, can  _ I _ cast spells?”

“Presumably,” Yeosang says. “But I don’t know why your parents wouldn’t have at least taught you a lift incantation by now.” 

“Lift incantation? What’s that?”

“Child’s play. Do you have a coin?” San gives him one. He holds it in his palm. “ _ Up. _ ” He exhales, and then the coin rises about an inch into the air. “It’s usually the first spell people learn, to see if they have any magical affinity.” 

San attempts to copy him.

Nothing. 

“No,  _ up _ _. _ And you can’t just say it,” Yeosang says. He taps his throat, like he’s trying to indicate what to do, but San just stares blankly at him, uncomprehending. “Like. It has to come from here?”

“Up,” San says again. 

“Uh,” Yeosang says. “No.”

“Maybe my magical affinity is more of an aversion,” San jokes. He continues up the stairs. 

Yeosang stands still, processing that, but San hears him scoff good-naturedly after a second, so he feels a little bit better about himself. “You’re looking for a spell?” He repeats.

“Probably.” 

The master bedroom is neat, which is surprising. Nothing out of place. Definitely doesn’t look like they ran. 

Yeosang watches as San scours the room. “You think it’s a spell then? Keeping me here?”

San sits up. There’s probably dust in his hair from how close he got to the floor to look under the bed. “Maybe not keeping you here. I saw some stuff that points towards a spell to keep your magic running the place.”

Something complicated runs across Yeosang’s face. “It’s not just the house.”

What does that mean? If anyone throws any more surprises at him San’s gonna scream. “Elaborate,” he prompts, when Yeosang doesn’t seem inclined to. 

“Are you on good terms with your family?”

Yikes. Did he not clarify that earlier? “I don’t think it’s possible to be on  _ worse _ terms with my family,” San says. Then he remembers Jongho and promptly takes it back. “I know what they do. I don’t—it’s not like I can stop them, but I in no way support it.”

Yeosang nods, jerky. “They have equipment. Machines that transmit information to them. They have me run those, too.”

Oof. It’s like his family hit rock bottom and found a fucking shovel. Dig, you evil bastards! Dig!

San stands. He’s not making any headway as is. Might as well go take a look. “Where?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it sort of feels like too much at once but. needed these things to happen so yeosang and san could meet 
> 
> chapter 3 is written but i might hold off on posting it for a bit to make sure later chapters don't have any continuity conflicts
> 
> im still deciding between everything in one fic or spread out in a series TT
> 
> hope everyone has a good day! happy biden winning day to my fellow americans its been a long ass week huh


	3. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san spends a lot of time with yeosang and practices a lot of magic and gets tired of one of these things very quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok listen,,, pretend yeosang is a quick learner  
> im not writing him figuring out what the hell a cell phone is, san barely uses his anyway. its Fine everythigns f i n e i totally didnt forget he wouldnt know hahahahahhaha
> 
> cw semi-graphic stabbing, vomit mentions, soju drinking for socializing, implied murder, very inaccurate depiction of chuseok sorry i did my best i know its usually a family thing asldkfjkg. something that is probably a panic attack but not explicitly stated to be one 
> 
> lol so yeah this is a fun chapter!!

San buys fruit on his next grocery run. He’s less worried about bruising them since he doesn’t have to jump the gate, and while he himself has survived on a college student diet of popcorn and ramen for much longer than this, he’s not letting Yeosang get scurvy. 

Can Yeosang even get scurvy?

He’d asked, before he left, about dietary differences, but Yeosang had just said whatever San will eat is probably fine with him. San’s tempted to challenge that. Later, though. 

He buys perishable things as well, vegetables and eggs and stuff, since he’d finally (gag) cleaned the fridge out. He has this vague idea that maybe he’ll cook a full meal at some point, but honestly he’s not sure how well that’ll go down, given the last thing he cooked was a poptart-ramen sandwich. 

...Yeah. Don’t ask. 

Maybe he’ll succeed this time because he doesn’t have a time constraint? 

“Oh, chicken?” Yeosang says, delighted, peeking into one of the bags. “Cap’s did a great fried chicken. I missed it so much over the last fifty years.”

“Mhmm,” San says, ignoring the casual fifty years mention for his own sanity. “Cap’s has been around for a while, then?”

“Yeah. Is Hongjoong still around?”

“Yup.”

“Damn.” Yeosang helps San unload, despite his protests. “Is he still running it alone?”

San was under the impression that Cap’s was Seonghwa’s restaurant. Guess he was wrong. “He has a friend doing half the work.”

Speaking of halving the work. 

San was going to attempt chicken parm on his own, but he must’ve looked a little too forlorn, staring at the ingredients, because Yeosang takes pity on him and helps him pound out the chicken. San does the rest himself, but Yeosang makes it to the kitchen before he does when the timer beeps, and takes plates and utensils to set the table when San’s distracted checking if the chicken’s actually cooked through. 

It was maybe the wrong dish to try to make. It’s just one of the only recipes he actually remembers. 

He tries not to remember his parents fondly, because they did some horrible stuff and then tried to convince him it wasn’t horrible, and have probably definitely done worse. But that doesn’t erase the happy bits from his childhood. Where he can remember his mom and dad cooking together, dancing around the kitchen with him on their shoulders, pressing him close and just laughing and laughing and laughing. Happy memories. Some of his only happy memories. 

Chicken parm was one of a few recipes they put on rotation, but it was one of the ones that he  _ loved. _

“Thank you,” Yeosang says, once they’re both sitting. San jolts a bit, both because he can tell this is about to be an Emotions(™) conversation and also because he’s been trying to be ultra conscious of the word thank for faerie reasons. “Really, thanks. For… you didn’t have to do this. Cook, and everything.”

“You helped,” San protests. “And you really don’t need to thank me for anything, call it paying off—”

Yeosang shakes his head. “Don’t. Don’t take on the burden of what your family did. You weren’t even  _ alive. _ You don’t hunt. You don’t have to be doing this, but you are.”

Sure, but. 

But.

San doesn’t really have a good comeback for that. He doesn’t have to be doing this, Yeosang’s right. He didn’t have to come to Haven at all, he could’ve said fuck it, moved to Japan with his sister, and never looked back. But he’s here. 

It still feels like he should do more.

The chicken is good. It doesn’t taste the same, but it doesn’t taste worse or better—just different. Which is nice. The change, that is. 

But all he can really think about, the thing that’s been constantly on his mind is, they’re going to have to deal with what’s in the basement. 

It’s not a pleasant thought. 

(When Yeosang had led him back into the basement to see what else San’s family had him hooked up to, San was entirely ready for him to scare the shit out of him as some kind of revenge, but instead he’d just opened a door that San hadn’t even noticed. 

“They used to come down here a lot. After a while they just stopped. I think your parents don’t know how to get down,” Yeosang had said. “Their equipment was kept in a separate room because even if I was the thing powering it, they wanted to keep me from knowing what it was I was doing. I just know that whatever’s there was used to hurt others.”

The computers are old, and the monitors clearly ancient. A giant map of South Korea decorates the wall, with pinpricks of light of varying brightness clearly representing something, but neither of them could figure out what. 

They’d tried to turn on some of the monitors, but they’d all said the power-up process would take over 24 hours. Ancient technology, truly.)

After they finish eating, they get up to do the dishes together, because San won’t let Yeosang do it alone and Yeosang insists. Yeosang brushes by him a little too brusquely, and San near flinches back. 

Oh. Human contact. Non-human contact? Still. Hug with Mingi (he’s still riding the high of that, not gonna lie) and Hongjoong doing a weird fae thing with his shoulder aside, he hasn’t touched another living being outside Byeol for a while. He’s always been kind of reserved, unwilling (and unable) to open up to others, and that always meant he wasn’t close enough to people to hug them, or cuddle. It’s kind of sad. He’s always wanted a cuddle buddy. He used to rely on handshakes and his sister to fulfil his quota, since typically that’s the most he can stand other people touching him, anyway. 

Now he doesn’t even have that. 

But still, this is Yeosang. Yeosang, who San’s family kidnapped and held prisoner. Definitely not the right person to seek cuddles from. 

It doesn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

Yeosang looks sidelong at him for permission before taking an orange. It’s not like San has anything better to do, so he follows him when Yeosang sits back at the table. 

It’s weird. Everything is weird. How did San’s life end up like this? He sits at the table across from Yeosang and watches as he peels an orange. He thinks about the woman with a fish tail that he saw in the barrage of images he got at the faerie ring, and wonders.

Yeosang doesn’t seem to care about the pith getting stuck under his fingernails, only picking it out when it impedes his progress in what’s apparently his goal of producing the most picture perfect jewel. Strings upon strings removed, and San can’t help but think that if  _ he _ were locked in a cellar for fifty years and was finally presented with a ripe fruit, he’d just devour it, skin and all. But Yeosang is patient. 

“There’s an aquatic fruit,” Yeosang says, still completely laser-focused on his task. “It’s called—hm. I don’t think there’s an appropriate translation. Humans haven’t really discovered it. But we eat it with urchin. It’s sort of like an orange, tangy and sweet.”

San nods along. 

Yeosang glances up at him, amused. “You probably don’t care.”

“No, no,” San hastens to say. “Go on, if you want.”

By now the orange is practically gleaming. Bright colored and juicy looking. Yeosang pries it in half, and starts picking at the inside. “It’s okay. I was just reminiscing a bit.”

They sit in silence, Yeosang continuing to peel and San continuing to watch him. The clock on the wall ticks loudly, and San finds himself counting the seconds, somewhat from lack of anything else to do. 

This is the most effort he’s ever seen anyone put into eating a fruit. 

When Yeosang finally, finally separates a singular segment from its half, he doesn’t eat it, like San’s expecting. He holds it out across the table. 

San takes the orange piece. 

“It doesn’t split up like this,” Yeosang says, popping a new piece into his own mouth, and San’s brain has to catch up for a moment before he remembers that Yeosang was talking about the aquatic fruit. He gets up and moves to sit in the chair next to San, while San short circuits a bit at the proximity. “We’d almost never share it, because when we did we’d get into arguments about whose piece was bigger, and try to even it out by breaking off the difference.” He glances over. San, still frozen, hasn’t eaten his slice. Yeosang’s clearly holding back a smile when he uses a finger to tip San’s arm back and press the orange against his mouth. San eats it. He has some difficulty swallowing. 

Yeosang does this—back and forth, San, him, San, him—until there’s one slice left. 

There was an odd number of slices. 

Yeosang looks down at the orange, then up at San. He smiles. “Split it?”

The point of that story, San thinks, taking the proffered half, is teamwork. It pretty much sets a precedent. It could be a threat, even, if San decides that’s the kind of person Yeosang is. The kind of person to use veiled words and metaphors instead of outright saying,  _ I have sharp teeth and your flesh is soft. _

San does, actually, think that’s the kind of person he is. But maybe he’s wrong. 

Kang Yeosang is dangerous, that much is clear. From his stance to his gait to the lazy way he tracks movement in a quiet room, whatever species he is definitely isn’t a stranger to starting fights. What he eats, San doesn’t want to find out, especially because his nerves keep telling him to  _ get out _ whenever Yeosang looks at him.

But San pushes through it, because maybe out in the wild humans would be below Yeosang on the food chain, but here, in this house, and with Yeosang specifically, hunters are at the top. So San’s in the position of power.

And fuck, he hates it. 

He’s glad Yeosang hasn’t tried to eat him yet, of course—and maybe that thought isn’t the most PC but it’s  _ probably _ valid—but the idea of having power over him makes him sick. He wishes, more than he has for the rest of the trip, that he could just let Yeosang go and flee to the city himself, but he can’t. There’s a spell to break. 

Neither of them are equipped to deal with each other. San more than Yeosang, but Yeosang still tiptoes around him, like San’s a particularly wired rabbit minding his own business and bolting at the slightest snap of a twig. It doesn’t make San feel any less hunted, but maybe that’s the point. They’re both, theoretically, apex predators. Yeosang probably feels like San’s hunting him too.

So.

A hunter and a siren walk into a bar, but the bar’s a house and the siren’s cursed and the hunter’s estranged from his pack. 

San’s just waiting for the punchline.

* * *

There have to be better ways to keep someone from talking. But then again, more than likely no one was thinking about Yeosang’s comfort when they designed the thing. San holds the gag up—because he’s certainly not going to make Yeosang touch it himself—and asks, “where do you want it?”

Yeosang points to the corner with the shackles. San deposits the thing there. 

He supposes they should be grateful no one tried to hack out Yeosang’s larynx. Hopefully no hunter’s evolved to surgical procedures between 1956 and now, because San might actually move to another country if that’s the case. 

“Step back,” Yeosang says, and San very willingly does so. If he hides behind Yeosang, well, Yeosang doesn’t seem to notice so that’s between him and Yeosang’s back. _ “ _ _ Open. Burn. _ _ ” _

The thing explodes. San’s pretty sure that it takes the cuffs with it, going by how fucking hot the air against his legs is. 

Yeosang turns to him with a smile, as if he didn’t just set off a fucking magic bomb. “That was fun.”

And yeah. San doesn’t blame him for getting a kick out of some violence in his life, but damn. The corner is full of scorch marks. The things that held Yeosang prisoner are nowhere to be seen. Yeosang’s definitely someone he wants to stay on his side in a conflict. …Though hopefully that won’t be relevant in the near future. 

He’s honestly surprised he’s made it this far without his family showing up to throw a fit, though he supposes he wouldn’t know if they were quietly turned away at the edge of town. Still, there’s always that risk, and San feels vaguely like he’s living on borrowed time. His family will come, there’s no question on that, the question is  _ when. _

San’s lying on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating this, when Byeol makes one of her weirder cat noises and hops onto his stomach. “Oof,” San grunts, hands coming up automatically to hold her. 

Yeosang appears in the doorway, trying and failing to hold in a grin. “That’s adorable,” he says. Byeol continues squirming, but with more vigor. San tilts his head up to squint at him, confused, but Byeol jams her head at his nose and he jerks back, and he realizes—is that a hat?

Is Byeol wearing a hat?

How did Yeosang get Byeol into a hat? Byeol’s so wary of him she won’t get within a meter without getting skittish.

It’s not Yeosang’s fault—she just has a built-in predator sense that tells her that even though the man looks human and smells like fish/food, he’s bigger and badder and has way more teeth than she does. 

“It took me so long to get her to stay still long enough,” Yeosang says. “She kept throwing them off.”

San can’t believe Yeosang made Byeol a towel hat.

Byeol meows indignantly, now attempting to get it off by aggressively nuzzling San’s shirt. He sits up and holds her out by the armpits. She protests. Loudly.

“That  _ is _ adorable,” San says. “Look at her, aww.”

She glares into his soul.

“Did you fold that?” San asks. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang says proudly. Byeol meows again, forlorn, but she’s not hissing so she can’t be  _ too _ upset, not really. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Yeosang says, edging out of the room. “You know where to find me if you need a replacement.”

That’s nice of him. Both the hat itself, and offering to make another. It feels almost normal, like they could just be human twenty-somethings fucking around and annoying the cat. So yeah. Nice.

And so the towel hat marks the start of Byeol and Yeosang’s frienemy-ship. It’s cute—San appreciates the effort Yeosang’s going through to bond with her, since he knows how much San loves her. 

San nods, using Byeol’s paw to wave goodbye. “Thanks,” he says, to the empty air. 

* * *

(Jongho stands at the beach, alone. The water is turbulent, as it has been, lately. It’s raining.

A flash of lightning in the distance illuminates the waves. He can see a dorsal fin, a  _ large  _ dorsal fin, but he’s not worried. The shark thrashes, and his heart skips a beat, but the fin comes back after a moment.

“What are you doing?”

He turns. 

His brother folds his arms. “Well?”

“Looking at the water.” The beach is empty. It’s just them.

“The water,” he echoes, looking out. And Jongho can tell, then.

He knows.)

* * *

It’s 6am and San’s sitting in the computer room.

Well, computer room’s a loose term. It’s the machine room in the cellar. 

He’s only here to torture himself. It’s not like there’s an off button, and the monitors still have over 24 hours to boot up. He has no reason to be sitting around, staring at the computers like they’ll cough up an answer. Turning the coin between his fingers like that’ll help him learn how to make it float. 

“What’re you doing?” 

San doesn’t startle, but it’s a near thing. “Thinking.”

Yeosang snorts. “There are better places to think.” He leans his hip against the table next to him. He’s holding a mug of tea and has wrapped himself in a blanket, one of the nice fuzzy ones from the kitchen.

“Sure.” San flips the coin, thinking of tails. 

Tails. 

Nice.

“Have you been trying?” Yeosang snatches the coin out of the air on the next toss. San slumps in his chair, grimaces. “No luck?”

“I’m just saying words,” San says. “I feel stupid.”

“Stop overthinking it.” Yeosang flicks it into the air, doesn’t say anything, and it stays there, like it’s frozen in time. “You want the coin to float. You have the ability to make the coin float. The word is just a funnel, like the sticks in those fantasy stories humans write. Children use it to learn control. Adults use it to expend less energy. So if the words aren’t working, don’t use them. This spell is simple enough that you should be able to get it without working yourself up over the words.”

The coin drops into San’s lap. He stares at it. 

“Try again,” Yeosang says. 

“Up,” San says. The coin stays down. He picks it up, leaves it on his palm. “Up,” he says again. It stays still. 

Yeosang makes a noise. “You’re still not—you’re just saying it in Korean.”

What else is he supposed to be doing?

“ _ Up _ _.  _ Assert yourself over nature,” Yeosang clarifies. “What forces act on the coin?”

If Yeosang thinks he’s gonna know the answer, he is very sorely mistaken. “Gravity,” San hazards. “And the other one.”

Yeosang laughs. “The other one?”

“I’m not good at physics,” San whines. “I haven’t taken physics since  _ middle school.” _

“Cute,” Yeosang says. San’s ears heat up in embarrassment.  _ Excuse me? _ “You have gravity and the normal force. They’re equal, right? Because the coin doesn’t move? Increase the normal.”

The coin sits on his palm. A tiny bit of pressure. He flips it, one more time.  _ Tails. _

_ “ _ _ Up, _ _ ” _ he says, before it falls back to his hand. 

It holds. And then it rockets up into the concrete ceiling so hard it dents it. 

And the map just got brighter. San looks up, distracted, and the monitors boot up. They still had over 24 hours to go last he checked, how did it…? 

“Shit,” Yeosang whispers. The screen flashes to life, and they’re faced with a list of names and locations. 

_ TOP 8 FLARE ACTIVITY SK refresh ca. 1/5 sec.  _

_ Magnitude - Name - City _

_ 9.9 - Jackson Wang - Seoul _

_ 9.7 - Kwon Bo-ah - Seoul _

_ 9.5 - Lee Taemin - Busan _

_ 9.5 - Hirai Momo- Seoul _

_ 9.5 - Park Jimin - Busan _

_ 9.2 - Kim Hyun-ah - Seoul _

_ 8.8 - ??? - Haven _

“Huh,” San says. “That’s not good.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Yeosang stays glued to the monitor, tense for the five seconds it takes to refresh again. Then he relaxes. “It doesn’t have your entry anymore.  _ Hopefully _ your family will think that was just a blip.”

Looks like they’ve discovered what exactly Yeosang’s magic’s being used for.

“So it’s a map of magic,” San says. “Hot spots, kind of.”

Yeosang huffs. “Yeah, can we go back to your lift spell waking up the monitors and registering as an 8.8?”

San squints at the monitor. “That’s… high?”

“San, when I blew up the… it wouldn’t have registered even if the monitors were on. I’m pretty sure the only way you could possibly be  _ higher  _ than Jackson Wang is if you don’t register at all. Showing up on this list says a  _ lot _ .”

“Don’t register at all?”

Yeosang glances at him. “There’s plenty of people in Haven alone who by all accounts should be at the top of the list. But your family built this based on who  _ I _ can sense. I’ve heard of all those people, they’re powerful in their own right, but they’re very front facing. They’re well known. They don’t have a need to hide because they’re infamous enough that no one really tries to go after them anymore. Anyone who doesn’t have that layer of fame-induced protection will cover themselves, and since I’m not from the most magic-heavy species, I don’t pick up on them as well as a fae would.” 

They poke around the files a bit, and there’s plenty more information on power levels and, worryingly, names and species and locations. 

It’s a hit list. There’s no sugar coating it. San’s family has been using Yeosang to do low level constant scanning for magic in order to cobble together a hit list of everyone from small fry to the big players who’ve maybe started to let their guard down. 

“We’ll find the spell,” San says. “We’ll disconnect you.”

“Maybe you should just tell someone. Something like this is too big.”

“And they’ll do what, to fix it?” 

Yeosang frowns. “I’ve lived less than a half life for most of my time being alive. I’m okay with—”

“No,” San says. It’s a sudden fire, really. “We’ll figure it out. If we run out of time we can resort to that, but I’m not letting you die.”

The silence is heavy.

Is it guilt? A misplaced sense of responsibility? Yeosang makes him nervous as hell, they barely know each other, and with him running these machines it’s looking to be more and more easy for San’s family to track San down. He should  _ want  _ him dead.

But maybe it’s the unwillingness to see another life lost due to his family. Half-life or not, Yeosang’s still alive, and maybe, just maybe, if they free him, if Haven knows what San’s family is willing to do for a hunt, they’ll band together and go on offense instead of huddling back on defense, and… 

That’s the thing, isn’t it. He thinks big, thinks fucking grand, all these plans to get away. He’s doing the same thing as Haven did. Pushing the problem away, leaving it for someone else. But what is he supposed to do? Kill his own family? He has the stomach for a lot of things, but that is not one of them.

Yeosang switches the window back to the hot spot chart. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I guess that’s fine.”

The coin drops out of the ceiling as they leave, and San goes back over to pick it up. 

Heads. 

Better luck next time, he supposes.

* * *

“Long time no see!”

San laughs. “It’s been, like, a day.”

“Two,” Hongjoong corrects, hopping off the counter. It’s definitely unsanitary for him to have been sitting there, but oh well. He’s been running this place for a while, apparently, and it’s been successful so far, so San’s not about to critique him.

And yeah, okay, so the time had gotten away from him. But he’d woken up late yesterday, and by then he had to run to the grocery store in order to have ingredients for dinner, so. Oops? “Sorry for depriving you of my presence for two whole days,” San says. “Must’ve been the worst.”

“Absolutely,” Hongjoong says. “What’ve you been doing, holed up in your mansion?”

San snorts. “I’ve been exploring. There’s some interesting stuff on the grounds.”

Hongjoong makes a face. 

The bell rings before San can ask what that means. Mingi, who’s just arrived, sheds his jacket onto the register.

“Hey, why does the bell only ring sometimes?” San asks instead. 

Hongjoong absentmindedly knocks the jacket off and ignores Mingi’s outraged squawk. “It’s just finicky.”

It’s not. San’s started keeping track of when it rings. It’s not a time of day thing, which was his first guess. What’s interesting is that of the people he’s met, it’s only certain to ring when he, Mingi, Han, or Seonghwa opens the door. (Or Mingi’s parents, on the notable occasion of them showing up that San had the pleasure of witnessing—Hongjoong said it only happens once in a blue moon. They hadn’t stayed long, and had kept a six foot distance between them and an amused Hongjoong the entire time. “It’s the skirt,” Hongjoong had told San, giggling, in what was clearly a bald-faced lie. He assumes, now, that it’s because Hongjoong is fae.)

About a quarter or less of the general town that he hasn’t really spoken to trigger the bell. The rest don’t. 

Hongjoong is the only outlier he’s seen. Sometimes he triggers it, sometimes he doesn’t. He’s the only person in the entire town (the population that visits Cap’s, anyway, but Hongjoong tells him that everyone visits Cap’s) that it varies for. San’s decided to discard him as an anomaly, because trying to make sense of it makes his head hurt.

It took him so long to figure out the pattern because it has to be the person  _ opening  _ the door—the bell doesn’t seem to care if they’re crossing the threshold, instead reacting if the person physically touches and opens the door. 

Mingi puts his jacket on the counter and eyes Hongjoong for a second to make sure he isn’t going to touch it. “Yeah, it’s just a weird bell.”

Hm.

Mingi turns away for half a second and Hongjoong lashes his arm out, swiping the jacket onto the stools. Mingi looks back at the noise and groans. “Why do I expect anything of you.”

Hongjoong shrugs. “I have no idea.”

Cat behavior. San approves.

“It’s always been like that,” Mingi tells San, when it’s clear Hongjoong isn’t going to continue. “It’s just weird.”

San accepts that grudgingly. If Mingi—who the bell rings for—thinks it’s fine, San’s willing to let it go. For now.

Mingi puts the jacket back onto the counter and looks away, and San’s arms break out into goosebumps as he watches the jacket fall to the stools again, seemingly on its own.

There’s a clatter by the register. Both San and Mingi turn to see Hongjoong staring at the place the jacket was, white as a sheet.

“C’mon, man,” Mingi starts to complain. “I know you like your flat surfaces free of stuff, but really?”

Hongjoong shakes his head slowly. He looks at San. For one heart-stopping second, San thinks that he’s actually going to ask him about Jongho. 

But that’s a ridiculous conclusion to come to from a jacket falling off a counter.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says, finally. “Sorry.”

* * *

The ocean hits low tide a few hours before sunset. San hadn’t been expecting much, he thought he was gonna need to wait a few days at least, but he supposes he’s lucky.

There’s no specific path down to the rock that he can see. The cliff just drops off, jagged rocks all the way down. A patch of grass by the edge does look promising though, so he heads over there.

Hidden behind said grass is an entrance to a dirt path. It’s skinny enough that from San’s viewpoint at the top he couldn't see it, but from this angle it’s clear—there is a path, and it’s clear enough that he won’t have trouble getting down. 

Picking his way to the beach is easy. 

The sand is still wet. He sinks enough that he takes his shoes off, rather than have it seep into them. He leaves them by the path. 

The rock is bigger in person than it looked from the house. The rust stain on it hasn’t washed away. It’s old, clearly. And probably not animal. 

_ A woman with a tail like a fish. Squirming but held in place. _

The image is superimposed over the rock in his eyes. She must’ve been the person he was supposed to kill, San thinks. But he’d refused. 

He wonders if they let her go. 

He doesn’t know why he’s down here, really. Curiosity? But it seems like he’s doing that a lot, lately. Trying to punish himself. Or trying to force himself to remember. 

He’d acclimated too quickly to Yeosang’s presence, or maybe the other way around. It feels too normal, interacting with him. It’s almost like they’re college roommates and not on opposite sides of what looks to be a fucking war. Hell, San’s talked more with Yeosang than he had with his actual first year college roommate.

The woman’s still there, in his head, eyes wild and feral, and his family would probably have him believing that makes her dangerous, an animal, but he knows it’s because of what they’ve done to her. To her people.

Why do they do this? Why do they hunt? Haven is peaceful. He could maybe— _ maybe _ understand targeting, say, a vampire who keeps bleeding humans dry, or a siren who intentionally lures people to their deaths. Things that would be a crime for humans as well, but maybe the human authorities have trouble apprehending them. But this—murder as an initiation, keeping someone captive for years, “hunting” with enough ferocity that the whole town of Haven  _ despises _ their entire family—what is the  _ point? _ Why do they hunt innocent people? They’re well off, they all have good jobs, none of this is necessarily, and yet. 

_ Yeosang takes her place, fighting the arms that hold him down. TRAITOR, he screams, baring his teeth at San. In place of legs is a tail. He’s not a fish, not like the woman. San’s always loved ocean-life, he knows his fish. Yeosang’s not a fish. _

_ He’s a shark. _

_ I’ll rip your flesh from your bones, Yeosang promises, wild and angry. I’ll tear your guts open, Choi San, filet you like you did him!  _

He’s really letting his imagination run wild, huh. A manifestation of his guilt, maybe? It’s so clear, though. He’d say it’s a memory, but that wouldn’t make sense. Yeosang hasn’t been out of the cellar since 1956. 

San hadn’t thought of mer being sharks. Though sharks are technically fish. Maybe there are cephalopod mer? That’d be cool. 

_ The woman snags her shirt on something, and it falls to the ground unnoticed.  _

_ San, his mother says before he can go to pick it up. Like we practiced. _

He walks to the edge of the rock. It’s been years, so it should’ve washed away, whatever it was, but he walks there anyway. Hoping, maybe, that he’ll be lucky. He brushes away the loose sand where the cliff meets the beach. There’s a metal object there—a tuning fork, he thinks. It’s old, rusty.

It’s also thrumming. 

San can feel it, in a way that he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to, before what happened in the computer room today. It’s practically vibrating in his hand. 

He’ll take it up, he decides. Even if it’s nothing. It’s worth a check. So he leaves behind the blood stained rock and the memories it brings, and hopes no one will ever have a use for it again.

* * *

San used to sing, too, when he was younger. His parents let him take piano lessons and he gradually phased those out in favor of singing, then further phased those out in favor of Taekwondo. It just seemed like the right thing to do, at the time.

“I think it’s cool,” he’d said, of singing, when asking for the switch. “I wanna be an idol, mom!”

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, smoothing back his hair. “That’s a wonderful dream. But it’ll never come true.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have an obligation,” she says. “And you of all people can’t break it.”

She never told him what obligation that was, never elaborated, nothing. He wonders if she just meant hunting, or maybe something more.

When he was very very young, he had bad nightmares—he’d wake up and think there were monsters in his house. (That… is something he doesn’t care to examine quite yet, but certainly has another layer of meaning with what he now knows.) She would tell him bedtime stories before tucking him in bed for the night, to try and help keep those anxieties away. One of his favorites was the story of the rebels—the incomplete story that she refused to tell him the end of. He’d thought it was standard, like the boy who cried wolf, or the princess and the pea, but when he gushed about it to one of the kids at school, she’d gotten confused and asked what fairy tale is that? And San couldn’t answer because his mom never uses a book.

“I think your mom made it up,” the girl told him, before wandering away to play with some other kids who don’t tell weird stories with no happy ending.

“I didn’t make it up,” his mom assured him. “But it’s a family folk tale, okay? You have to keep it quiet.”

“Okay,” he’d agreed, and never mentioned a word of it again.

It goes something like this.

There’s a magic kingdom, some unspecified amount of years ago. In that kingdom there’s a king. A tyrant king, who leached off the people, used them as stepping stones to get what he wanted. Many hated the way the king ruled, so a few decided to stage a coup. 

It didn’t work. 

Those that were involved were cast out. They were bound, their magic mostly taken from them, and told never to come back. Their bloodlines lost to the kingdom. But those people grow stronger, in shadows, and will rise again, soon, to take back what was taken.

She always had seemed too invested for it to be just a bedtime story.

An obligation indeed.

Regardless. San’s  _ point _ —it’s gotten away from him by now but what he was trying to say is that he knows his tuning forks, and this particular tuning fork makes a noise a little too deep to be normal.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Yeosang says when he sees it. San places the thing down on the table. “Did they actually…” He reaches forward, runs a finger along the handle. “Yeah. This is Jongho’s.”

“Huh,” San says. He has seen Jongho sing, he supposes. It makes sense. 

“This makes it harder to break.” Yeosang picks it up, tilts it a bit. It’s covered in rust. Covered so densely that San’s sure that the entire thing has just been turned to a tuning fork-shaped piece of rust. “Jongho and I made this stupid vow when we were kids. The kind of thing that ensures you can never turn on each other, y’know? It was especially big because he was him and I was me. But our wording was, like, I can’t hurt him or what’s his. The definition of ‘his’ is a little ambiguous, but the tuning fork meant a lot to him, so I’m guessing it counts.”

“You’re kidding,” San says. The vow sounds smart honestly, especially given who they were/are, but unfortunately very inconvenient now. “So you can’t break it?”

Yeosang shakes his head and puts it back down. “No. But I can teach you.”

“You saw me try the lift incantation, right?” San asks. “Like, you were there.”

“You registered at an 8.8,” Yeosang says. “You can do it. It’s just a matter of getting the incantation down and not blowing it up so intensely that it burns your eyebrows off.”

San covers his eyebrows on instinct. “Keeping my eyebrows would be good, yeah.”

“I think you’d look good eyebrow-less,” Yeosang says. 

San pouts. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing,” Yeosang says, very clearly holding back a laugh.

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m just picturing you—” he leans forward, thumbs up in a way that probably covers San’s eyebrows, from his point of view. He snorts. “Yeah, nope. We’ll protect your eyebrows with our lives.”

“Hey,” San says, unsure whether to be offended or not. Are they at a point where they can joke about this?

“It’d help if we had your family grimoire,” Yeosang continues, ignoring him. “But I’m assuming you don’t know where that is.”

He’d seen it, hadn’t he? When he picked up the grimoire in  _ Levanter. _ It was one of the things he saw. His mother, ordering him to try again, and the book.

But that won’t help him find it. 

“No,” he says. “I don’t.”

“I know a few incantations that’ll help you focus your magic,” Yeosang says. “We’ll start with those. But try to practice the lift one first? Get it to hover. Without ceiling damage.”

San has a few extra coins in his pocket, so he plops down on the couch and makes another attempt. Yeosang watches him for a few moments before wandering off to the kitchen. He comes back soon enough with two apples, and he eats one as San continues to try. 

He hadn’t had time to think about it then, too distracted by the monitors, but he had felt something, when he’d actually gotten the incantation to work. It wasn’t a tugging, or fire through his veins, or anything like that—instead it was like he’d actually reached forward, and tugged up on the coin. Of course he didn’t actually, physically reach forward, but it just feels like he did. And he’d tugged up with too much strength. So. Moderation.

The coin sits on his palm. Slight pressure. 

It’s ridiculously easy to reach forward and tug up. Like, ridiculously easy. 

Yeosang watches the coin slowly rise into the air and hover, incredulous. He swallows his bite of apple. “That was quick. Wordless, too.”

“Yeah,” San says, a little dubious himself. 

Of course Yeosang then takes this as an invitation to lob an apple at his head. “Think fast!”

San throws an arm up without thinking, intending to (physically) block it, but what he gets instead is a  _ crack _ and apple bits smacking him wetly in the chest. He lowers his arm slowly. 

Yeosang brushes apple chunks out of his hair. “Hm.”

“Overpowered?” San suggests weakly. He hadn’t even actively reached out. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang says. He looks at San, then the remnants of apple decorating the floor, then back. “Overpowered.” 

They try again, because Yeosang takes this to mean that apple throwing is the most effective method of learning restraint. San’s not sure how much of that is legitimate and how much is just Yeosang wanting to throw apples at him. Once San can semi-reliably catch an apple, they graduate to tomatoes (San doesn’t actually remember buying tomatoes, but okay), because they’re softer, and as expected, the first one  _ explodes everywhere. _

“Please tell me you can clean that with magic,” San says. 

Yeosang just smiles at him in a way that is not in any way reassuring. He hefts the next tomato.

It does help, much to San’s disgruntlement. By the end, Yeosang’s throwing eggs at him and San’s able to hover them without breaking them. 

They went through a lot of eggs. Definitely more than the twelve they had in the fridge. San honestly doesn’t know where Yeosang’s getting them.

The floor isn’t carpeted, thankfully, though San supposes with magic it’d be just as easy to clean as concrete. Byeol does run through their mess, which causes a bit of a panic as San sprints after her to make sure she doesn’t lick raw egg off her paws, but other than that Yeosang cleans it up pretty fast. 

“Maybe you can just violently lift the tuning fork,” Yeosang suggests, once Byeol’s safe and the floor is spotless. 

San groans from where he’s slumped on the couch. “Would that even work?”

“Probably not.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, contemplating the fruit destruction they’d just caused. It’s strange to think about, San supposes, that they’re able to interact like they’ve known each other for years while they have something to  _ do, _ but the moment they take a break the tension in the room rockets up. Though having a common goal does create a limited bond. Group project syndrome, or something.

“Chuseok’s coming up,” Yeosang says. He glances over. “Do you usually…?”

“I spend it alone,” San says. He hesitates, because he needs to tell Yeosang but he also doesn’t know how to break it gently. “Hongjoong invited me to the town’s celebration.”

It’s an old tradition, Hongjoong told him. A lot of people in Haven don’t live with lots of family, and either can’t risk leaving for their families’ celebrations or their families can’t risk coming to Haven, so they compensate by celebrating all together.

San had been worried to tell him for a lot of reasons, but most pressingly because he’s sure Yeosang used to celebrate Chuseok with them as well, and he feels guilty for even considering going when Yeosang will be stuck here. So he’s expecting anything from anger to sadness to resentment. 

“You should go.”

He isn’t expecting that.

“Are you sure?” 

Yeosang nods. “You’ll have fun. It’s also…” he squints. “It’s a sign of peace. Your grand—um. Your ancestors would never even consider going. It shows that you’re different. I can’t imagine most of the town was happy about your presence when you got here, so showing up to Chuseok will be good.”

It occurs to him, then, that Yeosang doesn’t know that San’s family was driven out. If anything, he’s slightly more in the dark than San was, at the start. But how the hell is San supposed to tell him about something he himself knows almost nothing about? He braces himself a little for that conversation. 

“Let me know if you need anything for your own celebration,” San says. “Anything at all.”

“I will,” Yeosang says, wry. “Thank you.”

“And, uh, about my family…” 

* * *

It’s strange, to see all the lights off. There’s some fairy lights (ironic name, really) strung up along the pier, and there are torches set up along the dock, but other than that it’s dark. Only the moon shines down on them, soft grey light spilling over every person. 

San feels a little like an intruder, showing up like this, but Hongjoong must’ve been looking for him because he near materializes by San’s elbow. “You came,” he says, delighted. 

“Yeah,” San says. It’s not like it’s some dark pagan ritual and he’s devoutly Christian. He probably does the same Chuseok rites they do, he just usually does them alone. He has no real reason to refuse.

Hongjoong leads him to the table they’ve set up, and San can see another smaller table further down the dock, closer to the sea-side restaurant. “Help yourself. The offering table is over there, so don’t take anything from there, but anything here’s fair game.” 

San holds up the bottle of Soju he’d found in the pantry. “To the East, right?”

Hongjoong appraises it, then nods, suppressing a smile.

The offering table’s surprisingly small. San supposes a lot of non-humans are close enough to immortal that they must not know many others who’ve died. Outside hunting, maybe. He places the Soju to the east and bows his head for a moment out of respect. 

He wonders if Jongho is watching.

The others seem to accept his presence with grace, after the initial staring. Even if he was actually hostile, he wouldn’t start a fight with the entire town at once, and he thinks they know that. Those in the female Hanbok do the traditional dance, and there are then games, and the plates of food seem to just keep filling. He plays tug of war and his team wins, his teammates slapping him on the back in approval, and he competes against Lia from the grocery store in an archery match. She wins, and they collapse onto the steps of someone’s house, giddy, and she pours him more Soju to celebrate. 

“It’s been a while since someone in your family celebrated with us,” she tells him. “The 1950’s, if you can believe it. Honestly I’m surprised there was anyone before you at all.”

That would’ve been Jongho, he resists shouting after her as she gets distracted by a few girls shrieking at the tightrope. 

He drinks the rest of his Soju in one go. 

The people of Haven are nice. San sort of wishes he could know them— _ really  _ know them, be a fully integrated member of the town—but that’ll never happen. Even if he somehow proves himself there’s always going to be suspicion on the back of peoples’ minds—is he gonna turn on us today? Tomorrow? Next week?

“I’m a naiad,” Lia had told him, in the middle of their match. “But you probably already knew that.”

He hadn’t. Is that something hunters are taught at a young age? Recognizing non-humans? Marking them for execution before they even do anything remotely aggressive? 

He takes another swig but his cup is empty. Dammit.

Someone takes Lia’s place on the step next to him. He doesn’t think much of it until the guy says, “Haven’t seen you around much.”

It’s Wooyoung. 

“I’m trying not to step on anyone’s toes,” San says. “You made it clear you didn’t want me anywhere near you.”

Wooyoung tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I guess I did.” He holds a drink out, probably more Soju, and San tilts his cup. Wooyoung pours, then drinks directly from the bottle. “Not poisoned,” he says wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. San appreciates the sentiment.

They drink a little more in silence, watching as the festivities continue. San can’t help but remain tense, though. The only thing that’s giving him any sort of relief is Hongjoong’s reassurance that there’s a big no-violence stipulation, and anyone who violates it will be thrown out of the celebration and not allowed back for two succeeding years. He doubts Wooyoung will risk that. 

“I heard you didn’t know about…  _ us _ , until a few days ago.”

That gets San’s attention. 

Wooyoung’s staring at him. It probably just looks a lot more intense than it is, with the firelight reflecting in his eyes, but San has to look away. 

“Yeah. I found out through some research.”

“Family stuff.” Wooyoung sounds like he’s quoting, and it takes San a second to remember that’s what he’d said, when Wooyoung had asked, all those days ago. “Fascinating.”

“If you say so.”

Lia and her friends make it across the tightrope, finally. San raises his cup in congratulations when she looks in his direction, and she spots Wooyoung with him and raises her cup in return instead of coming back over.

“Can you come with me?” Wooyoung asks. 

San’s instinctual answer—and also the self-preservatory answer—is no. Wooyoung  _ does not like him _ and has a very good reason for it. If they leave the celebration it might not be considered under the no-violence umbrella. 

“Just to the edge of the dock,” Wooyoung says. He stands. 

There’s something about his stance—he’s slumped, a little, resigned, like he’s expecting San’s answer before he says it. It’s that, and thinking of Yeosang back at the house, alone, that prompts San to stick out his hand. “Sure,” he says. 

Wooyoung takes it, and pulls him up.

Their walk is quiet. As they stray further and further from the light of the torches, San’s feeling of dread increases, but he powers through it. Hopefully he’s right to trust Wooyoung. Hopefully.

“You know what Chuseok is, of course,” Wooyoung says. “Giving thanks, respecting ancestors. It’s not really anything more special here, but it gives power to the dead and the reincarnated, and when we, in turn, have power, it’s easier to—” he chokes, cutting himself off. 

Oh.

San knows what this is.

And fuck, he aches thinking about it. He wants to blurt out that Yeosang’s  _ alive,  _ and Jongho’s  _ here, _ but Jongho said—and Yeosang wanted—

“It’s easier to call back family,” Wooyoung says.

1956 to now. How many Chuseoks did Wooyoung reach out and sit alone, waiting,  _ waiting _ for his friends to reach back? Wondering why they won’t respond, thinking maybe Jongho just doesn’t have the power, but Yeosang should. Not knowing that he’s reaching into the void, that Yeosang  _ isn’t there yet. _

Wooyoung stops and turns to him. “You have an ancestor I’d really like to talk to,” he says. “I don’t beg, but if that’s what it’d take—”

“Please don’t,” San says. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just like that?” 

San can barely see his face, now. The torches are but pinpricks in the distance. The ocean ebbs and flows. Wooyoung could probably kill him right now, San thinks. Just one push, and he’d stumble into the water. From there, it’d be easy. 

“Just like that,” San says. 

It’s not a complicated ritual. Wooyoung sets something on the ground—food, probably, an offering—and says a few words. There’s a quiet  _ shck  _ noise that must be a knife. He tells him what to do, what to say, and asks San (politely, he might add) to prick himself on the finger. It works, is the thing. San can tell it works. Wooyoung can tell it works.  _ “ _ _ Choi Jongho, _ _ ” _ San says, and they both feel the magic it invokes. 

But nothing happens. 

“I guess it was too much to expect,” Wooyoung mumbles, after too much time has gone by, and San’s finger’s starting to ache. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“I’m sorry,” San offers. “I wish—”

“It’s not you,” Wooyoung insists, and San thinks he hears him sniffle but it’s too dark to tell and he doesn’t know him well enough to reach over or ask. “They’ve been avoiding me for this long, I didn’t know why I thought this would work. Thanks for trying.”

Ouch.

He watches Wooyoung head back to the celebration, after assuring him that he’ll be fine over here on his own for a bit. That was… painful to watch. Especially knowing, and not being able to say… “I know you’re there.”

A sigh. Cold breath. 

It’s way too dark, San wouldn’t be able to see him if he tried, so he doesn’t bother. “You could’ve said something to him.”

“Sannie,” Jongho says quietly. He sounds funny, almost like he’s on the other side of a phone line. “I don’t appear like the rest of the dead. I’m still here, not in the afterlife, so I’m much more coherent and much more clear. He’d be able to tell.”

“And?”

“ _ And, _ then they’d all want to see more of me. But I’m dead, San. I know it seems like I’m alive because I can talk to you sometimes and move shit around, but I’m dead. I’m not coming back. They can’t corporealize me with magic tricks and pretend it didn’t happen, do you know how unhealthy that is? I’ll pass on when my objective’s achieved and my soul’s clean, and they’ll live for thousands more years because they’re all non-human. I don’t want them to go through mourning for me twice.”

And yeah, that’s fair. San doesn’t know if he could survive losing someone twice—for them to be there and then ripped away, then back as if nothing happened, then ripped away again. Also—until his soul’s clean? What does that mean? “I get it, I do. But did you not see how upset he was? He thinks you and Yeosang hate him because you won’t answer and he doesn’t know _ why.” _

“He’ll understand.”

“No he won’t.”

“So I answer. And then what? He asks what happened to Yeosang? What am I supposed to say then?”

“I don’t even know why you’re so intent on keeping it secret.”

“I told you—” he cuts himself off. San’s sprayed, a little, by a wave when it crashes. 

“Told me what?”

“Unimportant. You should go back.”

San only doesn’t argue because the rising tide’s making him nervous. “Fine. Do I need to banish you or something?”

Jongho snorts.  _ “Banish _ me. No. I’ll fade on my own.” He kicks up some residual sand—or at least San thinks he does. “Fuck, I hate rituals. Shittiest requirements. Shittiest consequences.”

“Any other words of wisdom?” San asks. He’s not sure he wants to know what Jongho’s talking about. “Extra tuning forks? Methods of destroying tuning forks?”

“You can do it without help,” Jongho says. “You just have to learn control.” 

* * *

Control, control, control. Always control. San lifts an acorn, on the way back. A twig. A leaf. He has plenty of control now. He’d moved startlingly fast, Yeosang had said. Like he was relearning something he still retains muscle memory of. He learned way too fast to be new to it. But he is. He’s never done magic before. 

Not that he can remember. 

What happened in  _ Levanter, _ though, with Han nearly saying his name,  _ that _ is weird. He’d asked Yeosang about name-blocking incantations, and what he’d done is, in fact, a name-blocking incantation. It’s just a non-verbal incantation.  _ And _ it’s specifically in the realm of fae inclined magic. So where the hell had he learned that?

Yeosang’s in his room when San returns. San assumes he’s sleeping and heads to the living room to pick up the tuning fork. The goal isn’t to vaporize it from existence, that’d be asking too much—from what he understands, he just needs to  _ change  _ it enough that it’s functionally different from what it is now. 

Control, he thinks. He can imagine reaching out and pushing it, pushing so hard that it’s forced in on itself, and compression leads to heat, right? He could melt it. Maybe. But there’s so many ways that could go wrong. He thinks, briefly, of trying and failing and the compression blowing the metal outward, possibly at him. 

What about magnetism? The earth has a strong magnetic field, right? He just needs to direct it. Isolated from everything else, so he doesn’t affect anything important, but. 

But.

He could try. 

He can see this ending badly, but he can also see it working. 

It’s just that he wants this  _ done. _ Part from frustration, part… whatever emotions he’s feeling as a result of what just happened. Pity, maybe? San’s not particularly empathic—he knows that he doesn’t deal with his own emotions well, much less anyone else’s—but fuck, he’d felt it when Wooyoung walked away.

The magnetic fields around the tuning fork bend easily, to his (metaphorical) hand. He tugs at them, testing, and when they move where he asks, he continues asking. In a coil, around the fork. Just the fork. His hand starts to heat, so he lets go, on instinct, and  _ lifts _ it to make it float. Isolated. 

It begins to glow red. It’s definitely liquifying. He holds it, concentrating heavily on keeping  _ all _ the liquid _ up, _ but he does it. He’ll have a few milliseconds between stopping the magnetic pull and the metal solidifying, but he thinks he can do this. Probably. He thinks of what he wants it to be, hopes that his magic can make it happen, and lets go. 

The metal drops to the ground, but it doesn’t splat or clank like he’d expected. Of course, he doesn’t really get to inspect it, because the black that’s been creeping up on his vision escalates, and he stumbles forward, eyes sliding shut. 

He’s out before he hits the floor. 

* * *

(“That is  _ not _ what I meant.”

San wonders if he should be worried that Jongho’s getting more and more clear with every dream. His disapproval’s in HD now. “Did I do it?”

“You should probably be more worried about how you blacked out,” Jongho says. He touches San’s forehead, and San winces, feeling the bump even though this is a dream. “You hit your head pretty hard when you went down.”

“I’ll be fine,” San dismisses. “Did I do it or not?”

Jongho just frowns.) 

* * *

“Idiot,” Yeosang’s muttering when San comes to. 

Byeol meows in what sounds like agreement. “Conspiring,” San manages, squinting up at her. His mouth feels like he swallowed all the sand in a desert. 

“You,” Yeosang says. He points at him. San points at himself in confusion.  _ “Yes, you.  _ You transmuted the tuning fork  _ on your own? _ You literally started learning magic  _ two days ago, _ what the  _ hell _ were you thinking?”

San sits up—but slowly. His head is pounding. “Um.”

“You overexerted yourself,” Yeosang says. “And you probably registered on your family’s charts for long enough that they took notice. If we’re lucky, they didn’t check until after the monitoring shut down, but when am I ever lucky?”

He’s wearing a new necklace. It’s silver, tinged a little tiny bit brown, and at the end of the delicate chain is a small tuning fork pendant. 

So San succeeded. 

“Broken?”

“Yeah.” Yeosang’s expression darkens. “But I still can’t leave.”

San tries not to think too hard about Yeosang trying to leave while he laid, passed out, on the floor. Yeosang doesn’t owe him anything, San would understand if he had left, he himself has thought about leaving many times over, so why does the thought sting? “Ritual?” He asks, before his brain-to-mouth filter can kick in. Jongho had said something about a ritual, he’s pretty sure. But won’t a ritual be harder to break than a spell?

Trade offs, San supposes. A spell may last as long as an object, but that makes it easier to break. A ritual might fade, with time, but there’s nothing to physically break, so it’s more difficult to reverse. 

“Maybe,” Yeosang says. He sits back, and Byeol hops up to splay herself on San’s legs. “She’s right. Don’t move.”

“She didn’t say anything. She’s a  _ cat. _ ”

Yeosang snorts and heads into the kitchen. He comes back with water and crackers. “Don’t do that again. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d—just tell me, next time, okay?”

If San… if he fails worse than today (if he dies), Yeosang won’t have anyone but Byeol to help him get out. No wonder Yeosang’s so adamant he be careful. “Okay,” San says. He doesn’t want to leave him stranded. “I’ll be more careful.”

It’s morning, apparently. San slept through the night. Yeosang insists he stay on the couch for the rest of it, and Byeol doesn’t leave his legs so it’s not like San could move if he wanted to. He thinks Yeosang feels bad for not noticing San had passed out, but it’s not like San had woken him up. It’s fine.

Yeosang makes eggs, which are… very firm. And rubbery. San eats them anyway.

They sit in silence for a little longer, San picking at the eggs and Yeosang just frowning down at his hands. “How do we break the ritual thing?”

Yeosang squints up at him.  _ “You’re  _ not—“

“Sure, okay.” San shifts, and Byeol finally lets him go. “But I can help research, right?”

“Rituals are hard to counter,” Yeosang says, after a brief assessing pause. “If I am being held by a ritual, it’s gonna take a while to break it, without help.”

“Say the word and I’ll tell someone.”

Yeosang shakes his head. “We can’t risk it. Though it might be—“ He pauses, paling. “Shit. If your family notices that I’m not running the machines… it might be too late for caution.”

“They’ll come back,” San supplies. He should’ve thought of that, before breaking the spell. He should’ve thought it through.

Should have.

“This isn’t your fault, neither of us knew there would be more magic keeping me here,” Yeosang says, and San shrugs it off. No use getting into that conversation if neither of them will yield. 

“They’ll be stalled at the town limits though, won’t they? No one wants them back here. If everyone bands together…” 

“Maybe,” Yeosang says, but there’s something he’s not saying. San doesn’t press. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even noon.

“I guess we can only hope.”

* * *

The sun is high in the sky by the time Yeosang finds him by the grave. “You’re still blaming yourself.”

San glances up at him, then back at his book in his hands. The clearing is no more cheery than the last time he’d visited, but it feels closer to Jongho than anything else. And right now, he wants to be close to  _ someone _ , at least. 

Yeosang catches sight of the book and whistles. “Some light reading?”

He’d been reading on rituals, in hopes of breaking it quickly. This book was a little more gruesome than most. Detailing things he never wanted put in his head, but the images are there now. Unfortunately. “Light, sure.” 

“It’s interesting, that you choose this place to sit above literally anywhere else.” Yeosang turns to look at the ring. “I can smell the rot from here.”

That’s what Jongho had said, too. That the magic was rotten. Which is an interesting notion to consider—can any magic rot? Is it only under certain conditions? Damp spaces rot before dry spaces, is it similar? What constitutes magical rot? “Was it deliberate? The rot,” he clarifies. 

“I don’t know.” He sits down as well, back to the same tree San was lying against. “Maybe. The religious blessing looks thorny, but whoever added the ring did it with the intention to protect.” He looks at San, sidelong. “Do you know the person buried here?”

“No,” San says. He flips a page, taps a finger to the cover. 

Yeosang looks back to the grave. A beat passes. “It’s Jongho, isn’t it.”

San nods. There’s no better way to say it. 

“He would’ve hated that.” The cross. “He didn’t have anything against religion, but  _ that _ —that’s malicious. Whatever his father did to the grave’s lasted even through the ring’s attempt to protect it.”

It’s one thing to hate your son while he’s alive. But to curse him into the afterlife? “Do you think we could undo it?”

The wind blows sharply, like Jongho’s trying to tell him  _ no, absolutely not. _

“It’d be too difficult for you,” Yeosang says. “And I’m not recovered enough to try… I wish I could, but I can’t.” He stares out at the grave. “I’ve spent a long time figuring out how to accept that I wouldn’t ever see him again, but this is still… strange.”

San doesn’t know what to say. Especially because he knows Jongho’s here. Possibly listening. He turns another page, and blinks down at the image presented. It’s gorey.  _ Choi matriarch sacrifices nymph _ , the caption reads. 

“He was supposed to marry Jisoo, from the Song famiy.” Yeosang snorts, tugs the book from San’s hand. “This won’t be much help, don’t bother reading the rest. Jisoo was a nice person. Jongho liked her well enough. It was arranged, but he never complained, and they were friends at the very least. I thought he had that ahead of him, before he died, but I guess… I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought.”

“I doubt it’s that,” San says. “He wasn’t a different person because he kept one thing secret.”

“No,” Yeosang says. “I guess he wasn’t.”

The leaves rustle. It’s a nice day, all in all, and San can almost imagine having a picnic, or going to the beach, or something.

“You remind me of him.”

San can’t help it—he laughs. He’s met Jongho only a few times, outside dream memories and casual ghost interactions, but he does know that he and Jongho are very different. “How so?”

Yeosang tilts his head. “Not physically—your faces are so different I’d believe you weren’t related. But he was brave, in doing what he did. Brave and stupid and firm in the belief that his family was wrong and he was right.” He looks over, wry. “You are too. Brave.”

“And stupid?” San asks, mostly joking.

“And stupid,” Yeosang says. “If you had any self preservation you’d have left me down in that cellar. Even if you run, they’ll come for you. Cockroaches, you know? You try to kill them and they just won’t fucking die. They’ll scuttle away to their hiding spots and breed and come back, stronger than before.”

So maybe Yeosang doesn’t see hunters as fellow apex predators. Noted. “There’s exterminators for cockroach infestations. Maybe you just need some really strong Raid.”

Yeosang laughs. Full on, throws back his head laughs. “Maybe,” he admits. 

They sit for a little longer, and San wonders if Yeosang’s doing this to get him to let down his guard so he trusts him. So that when they finally release him from the half-century old magic keeping him here, he’ll open his mouth and keep opening and opening and opening until he can swallow an unsuspecting San whole. He doesn’t know. He’s waxing poetic again.

The strange thing is, San already does trust him. His instincts protest loudly as he thinks it, but he would trust Yeosang to have his back in a conflict. Maybe that’s Yeosang doing weird shit to his brain, he doesn’t know. 

“So. Arranged marriages, huh?” It seems to be a pattern. His parents had actually started talking about setting him up with the daughter of a close friend when he turned 19, but he insisted on finishing college first. Haha, that went well. They  _ were _ weirdly pushy though. 

“It’s a tradition. Your parents’ marriage was arranged, too.” 

It was a good match, at least. Or they only showed him a good face. He wouldn’t have guessed.

How would it have gone, if he’d stayed with them? If he had done what they’d asked, ended up married—then what? Maybe he’d be working with them. Hunting. Believing non-humans to be lesser. Maybe he would’ve found Yeosang anyway. He’d like to believe seeing him like that would shake him enough to change his mind, but indoctrination like his family’s is thorough. He probably would’ve been disgusted that some ‘creature’ dared to breathe the same air as him. He probably would’ve believed Yeosang deserved it, simply for existing. 

It’d be lonely. 

And he’d be cruel.

“I’m glad I came here,” San says. He wants to say more but he doesn’t know how. 

Thankfully, Yeosang seems to understand. “I’m glad you came here, too.”

* * *

Later that day, Wooyoung shows up at Cap’s. 

He plops down on the stool on the other side of the register, like this is  _ normal _ , and doesn’t say a word. 

San’s kind of terrified of breathing too loudly.

“This is cozy,” Hongjoong announces loudly from behind the register. Usually it’d be Seonghwa, but lately their shifts have started to blur until it just turns into roulette. “Wooyoung, how’s your day been?”

“Fine,” Wooyoung says stiffly. 

More uncomfortable silence.

“How long have you lived here?” San asks, partly in the interest of breaking the uncomfortableness and partly because he’s actually interested. 

“A while.” Wooyoung glances at Hongjoong, who tips his head. “When are you planning on leaving?”

San frowns. “I told you that when I first got here. Indeterminate.”

“I would think you’d have made that decision by now.”

Hongjoong sighs. “You two are hopeless.”

“ _ I, _ ” San begins indignantly, but he’s interrupted by the door swinging open hard enough that it bangs on the wall. All three of them turn to look at Yunho, who beams at them. 

“Are you guys friends now?” He asks excitedly.

“No,” San and Wooyoung say, at the same time Hongjoong says, “yes.”

Yunho pouts. “Okay, but, you would be  _ really  _ good friends.”

“Debatable.”

“No, no,” Hongjoong says, leaning forward with interest. “Let him talk.”

Wooyoung is actually fairly amicable the whole day, which shouldn’t surprise San after the interaction on Chuseok, but still. He finds himself laughing along with a few of Wooyoung’s jokes. 

Today is just a reminder that Wooyoung really isn’t a bad person. He has some misplaced anger, sure. But San can’t begrudge him for that. He realized that a while ago. He’s kind of sad that he’ll never get to know him, not really, because there’s no letting go of the anger of someone’s family killing ( _ hunting,  _ which is worse) your friends, even if San had tried to summon Jongho for him. Maybe they can be friends after he gets Yeosang out. But when he gets Yeosang out, he’s planning on leaving, getting his sister, and moving to a different fucking country, so he supposes there won’t really be much opportunity for friendship.

Cap’s isn’t busy today, by virtue of it being a weekday. Hongjoong, as usual, disappears into the back for a bit soon enough, leaving San and Wooyoung alone at the register together. 

“Sorry about yesterday,” Wooyoung says abruptly. He’s not looking even remotely in San’s direction, but there’s no one else he could be talking to. 

“No need to apologize.”

“Really?” When San glances back at him, he’s a little incensed, frowning at his knees. “I dragged you somewhere isolated and made you participate in a ritual you had no knowledge of to try to contact your deceased relative.”

“It’s fine,” San insists. “You didn’t drag, you asked. I went willingly.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Coercion. Whatever. I’m sorry. And this doesn’t make us friends.” He says this with emphasis. 

“I didn’t expect it to,” San says. 

Wooyoung leaves soon after that. Hongjoong comes out to ask him what that was about, but San just shrugs. He’s not gonna air Wooyoung’s dirty laundry. If he’s not telling his friends that he’s trying to contact Yeosang and Jongho then San’ll respect that. 

San ends up leaving earlier than he expected because Hongjoong decides to close early, but he buys fried chicken from him before that as an attempt at an apology to Yeosang. 

Yeosang’s happy to tear into it. San pretends he doesn’t see how sharp his teeth get when he spots the chicken, just for his own sanity. 

* * *

The next few days go by without much development, on the ritual-breaking front. They spend a lot of time sitting together in the newly discovered library room, scouring the books and records for any mention of binding rituals, or anything specific to Yeosang or 1956. Byeol hates it, because they don’t pay attention to her, but Yeosang always caves quickly and gives her all the pats she wants every time she starts meowing sadly from under the table. San’s endeared. Pretty pathetically endeared. 

Their whole dynamic is interesting, really. He’d walked in on a few too many stare downs, where both of them just sit absolutely still, even with him crashing around in the background making absolutely no effort to be quiet. Maybe it’s a predator thing? But then when they’re not staring each other down they’re cuddling, and Byeol will turn to look at him with what he swears is a smug expression.

But what’s even funnier is how they started out. After their initial meeting where Yeosang was covered in blood and likely also the scent of his own distress (warranting a nose boop from Byeol), their first real interaction with Yeosang clean and rested went something like this.

San had been making (reheating) lunch somewhat sleepily, and Yeosang walked in just as groggy. Byeol followed him, intently prowling, and San’s mind was moving too sluggishly to process the stance, but he realized too late to warn Yeosang before—

“Ow!”

He kicks out, probably instinctively, and Byeol is flung a bit into the air from where she’d attached herself to his leg by her teeth.

“I’m so sorry,” San rushes to apologize, gathering Byeol into his arms heedless of her protests. “I don’t know what came over her, she doesn’t usually do that.”

Yeosang just shakes his head, amused. “I probably smell like fish.”

It took Byeol a few sniffs to get that Yeosang is (mostly) like San,  _ not  _ food. She picks something else up, too, something that San now realizes is probably some special predator scent. She treats him with much more dignity than she does San. He recalls some article he’d read about cats viewing humans as large, dumb, hairless cats, and wonders if there’s some truth to that after all.

“She can probably tell,” Yeosang agrees when San brings it up. “And I’m sure she thinks I’m more capable of taking care of myself than you are. She’s seen you cook, right?”

That gets him a shove onto the couch, but he’s laughing all the way down, so San just rolls his eyes and walks away. “You’re not funny!” he yells.

“Byeol thinks I am!”

San grumbles. He can’t refute it because for all he knows Yeosang can talk to cats and actually asked her, and he’s not gonna _ask_ him because if he _doesn’t_ have the ability to talk to cats then San just looks stupid.

Cats aside, he spends some time researching in the town library, too, but he’s a little more cautious now that Mingi’s words hold a bit more weight.  _ Be careful who you look up. _ There are almost definitely spells tracking his movements. Looking up binding rituals—breaking or creating—is absolutely suspicious, so he pads it with other stuff to make it look like he’s just interested in magic. And it’s helpful in its own way, as he progresses with learning magic on his own. 

The problem is his control. Again, with the control. 

He has the lift spell down pretty reliably, but he learned that abnormally fast. Anything else? He has absolutely  _ no _ control over how much magic comes out. 

“Again,” Yeosang says, leaning back. San scowls down at the water, wishing he could glare it into ice. “San.”

“Slow,” he says, holding the cup absolutely still as if that’ll help. 

“You’re still—” Yeosang rubs his eyes. “ _ Slow. _ ” The water freezes. “ _ Fast. _ ” And melts again. 

San scowls. “I’m  _ doing _ that.”

“Maybe there’s a reason your parents didn’t teach you any magic,” Yeosang says, and San hisses through his teeth in response. “Try again.”

And he’s a little angry, okay? So he looks down into the cup and says, slowly and loudly, like the water just couldn’t hear him, “ _ Slow. _ ”

But he must’ve put a little too much into it because the water freezes, and then the cup frosts, and then his hand feels cold as  _ fuck, _ like he encased it in ice. He yelps, dropping the cup, and it’s glass—cold glass, cold and brittle—so it shatters, and the ice does too, and San’s left clutching his hands together to attempt to warm them up. “Shit,” he says, teeth chattering. “W-wow that’s cold.” 

Yeosang steps forward, delicately avoiding the glass, and wraps San’s hands in his own. “ _ Warm, _ ” he whispers, and heat gradually radiates from his skin onto San’s, like one of those pocket hand warmers. He wants to jerk them away, hide them in his pocket, but it’s… nice. 

It’s nice.

Why is it so nice…? 

San pulls away first, probably before he should. “Thanks,” he says begrudgingly. 

“Be careful.” Yeosang waves a hand and the ice liquifies, sweeping the glass up with it, and follows his hand in the direction of the nearest bathroom. It’s interesting, the contrast between the easy way he manipulates water and the struggle he’s had with magic due to exhaustion. He doesn’t need magic for water stuff, he’d said, when San had asked. He can manipulate it without. It’s in his nature. “Maybe… give it a rest for today?”

“Maybe.”

Yeosang leaves the room, and San heads off to do more research. But not before sticking his hands deep in his pockets.

They’re still cold.

* * *

Wooyoung comes back to Cap’s. It’s the first time San’s seen him since Wooyoung apologized and San’s decided that means they’re in a truce. Wooyoung clearly doesn’t want to be his friend, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be acquaintances, right?

He comes back, heaving breaths like he ran a marathon. It’s San at the register, with no one else in the diner, and San startles, seeing him. “Are you ok?”

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung says. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

On cue, and without San asking for him, Hongjoong emerges from the kitchen worriedly. “What happened?”

San doesn’t intend to overhear. He has all intentions of focusing back on the book on various ritual forms that he’s reading, but they’re  _ right there _ . They move to the side a little, and they’re whispering, but they have to know San can still hear them, right?

“Yeonjun’s missing,” Wooyoung says lowly. “We were supposed to meet up today, but he didn’t show, and I went to check on him but Soobin said he didn’t make it home last night. The other three of their friends didn’t see him either. But where would he go other than to them?”

“Changbin’s?” Hongjoong suggests.

“No, I asked him too, he hasn’t seen him either. Besides, you know how Han and Chan are about people outside their circle staying in their house.”

“Vividly,” Hongjoong says drily. “So he’s just… gone?”

“Gone,” Wooyoung agrees. He doesn’t look good, San realizes, now that he knows to look for it. His skin is nearing sickly pale and his eyes are puffy enough that San can’t tell if he has bags or it’s just what happens to him in the morning. “I don’t like it. Do you think…”

“Han would’ve said something if there were hunters nearby.”

Han? San wonders. How would he know?

“If he registers them.” Wooyoung plays with the salt shaker in frustration. “He’s busy all the damn time, he can’t be watching the border every second of every day.”

“Maybe he didn’t register them,” Hongjoong agrees. “I’ll look around, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Wooyoung says, but San can tell Hongjoong doesn’t believe him.

San watches him leave, wondering if he should say something. Like he said, they’re not close, but Wooyoung’s clearly upset, and if one of his friends disappeared it’s probably a similar situation to Jongho and Yeosang. That can’t be good for his health, to live through that panic twice.

“Yeonjun was at the bar the night I asked you about hunting,” San says. Hongjoong looks at him, then back at the counter. “You knew he was there, didn’t you. When you touched my shoulder you did something that stopped his compulsion from working.”

Hongjoong lets out a frustrated noise. “He’s not a bad person. He’s just.” He waves his hand. 

“I get that,” San says, and he does. From what he could tell Yeonjun had only wanted information. And given that Wooyoung knows him, he’d guess that they just shared suspicions. He’s not  _ happy _ that he got mind whammied and would have been entirely defenseless if Hongjoong hadn’t had that foresight, but he gets why he did it. “Do you think that Wooyoung’s right? That there are hunters?”

“No,” Hongjoong says, but he’s lying. He heads back to the kitchen. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

San worries about it.

To say he hadn’t left on the best of terms with his family is an understatement. And, he assumes, since they’re so well known here, other hunters don’t come around much. If there’s a hunter wandering around Haven, it’s someone affiliated with his family, and that does not spell out good news for him. 

“Hongjoong’s fae, right?” San asks Yeosang, watching as he slowly moves water from a bucket into an arch. It’s like a muscle, Yeosang had explained. He was lucky because his physical muscles healed and strengthened easily with overnight exposure to water (which explained his sudden ability to walk the day after San had found him) but his supernatural muscles… not so much. He hadn’t had the chance to exercise them, stuck in the basement unable to perform standard magic due to the gag, and unable to use his own siren-specific magic due to lack of water. He’d attempted to use the moisture in the air, but it was specifically kept as dry as could be safe. It was too draining to even try, after a point, especially hooked up to everything he was (and still is) running. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang says. He glances over. “Why?”

“Just curious.” San hugs a pillow to his chest and folds up into a ball on the couch. 

“There’s only a few fae in Haven. The others stick together, but Hongjoong kept himself separate from that. I think mostly because he doesn’t know them as well as they know each other. They’d welcome him, I don’t doubt that, but they’re kind of… cult-ish? They keep to themselves when they can.” Yeosang drops the water back into the bucket and rolls his shoulders. “Fae don’t want to live in Haven because the hunters here have a longstanding agreement that as long as they don’t touch faekind, none of the fae will retaliate, no matter how brutal the hunt. There were lots of fae before the agreement. Most of them couldn’t stomach what happened after.”

“Why did they agree to that in the first place?” San demands. “What could they have—”

“Your family were mostly fae hunters before they switched to mer,” Yeosang says. “Their ‘specialty’. If you had read further in that rituals book I took from you, you’d have seen a lot of… the most popular hunting torture method is ripping off the wings. I’m pretty sure your family still has a stockpile of preserved fae wings.” 

Oh, jeez. 

“Anyway, you’ve probably met them. Or some of them.”

“Do they screen all newcomers, or something?” San jokes.

“Or something.” Yeosang says, dead serious. “Especially since your family was actually kicked out—the person that probably did it isn’t actually fae, but that’s a whole different conversation—they would have shown up to assess you in person.” 

San has a feeling he knows where this is going. “Han?”

“Yeah. Him and his friends.” Wow, it’s good San hasn’t somehow pissed him off! Oh, wait! Haha. 

But San’s still here, so that must say something.

“Changbin’s mer, he—” Yeosang cuts himself off. “...That’s off topic. The only fae in Haven are Hongjoong, and the fae among Han’s friends, that’s all you need to know.”

Yunho’s quite honestly the last person he’s worried about killing him, but still— “Did you know Yunho?”

“Dog spirit of some kind,” Yeosang says. “I never got specifics. I think he’s fae adjacent? But yeah, he’s… something.” 

“Good something?”

“Good something.” He snorts. “He’d hug everyone he knows and never let go if he could.”

So that’s Hongjoong, Yunho, and Changbin and his various friends. Mingi and presumably Seonghwa are human. Wooyoung is, presumably, also mer, given his closeness with Yeonjun and Yeosang and Changbin. 

“And the town’s mostly non-human?” 

“About fifty-fifty. The humans that are here either are close to someone supernatural or can do some form of magic. But no one supports hunters. You can’t live in a supernatural town and support hunters unless you are a hunter, you’d be killed in a day. Hunters won’t protect their supporters, not unless they get something out of it.” He lifts the water again, this time in a ring. “The Song family has a deal with yours, I don’t know what they get from it.”

“So I’ve heard,” San mutters. 

Yeosang drops the ring and nudges the bucket towards San. “Now, you try.”

Dammit.

It ends, as it always does, with San frustrated and Yeosang too tired to continue. San wonders if the pattern will ever break.

* * *

San’s pretty sure Yeosang’s going a little stir crazy. Not that he blames him at all, San would also definitely be going very much insane if he was stuck in his dead best friend’s house that also used to house the people that locked him in a cellar and effectively tortured him for fifty years. 

But what can you do?

So he comes back after a few hours hanging around the diner and playing nice with Wooyoung, who’s taken to popping in and making half-hearted jabs at San’s heritage that San’s started to take as pigtail pulling, to gummy bears covering every. Single. Flat. Surface. Except the floor. And he’s understandably concerned that Yeosang’s finally lost it. 

“I’ve created an army,” Yeosang says when San finds him. He’s sitting cross legged on probably the only section of the kitchen counter that isn’t covered in gummy bears.

“That you have,” San says. Where the hell did Yeosang get all these gummy bears? “Any particular reason?”

“Felt like it.” Yeosang blinks, and half the gummy bears fall onto their backs. “How was today?” 

“Uneventful.” San goes to sit on a chair, but there are gummy bears there, too. Yeosang sweeps them off, into his cupped palm, and offers San one. He takes it. “You?”

“Much the same.” He eats a handful of gummy bears at once. “I was thinking about a few things.” 

“With gummy bear busy work for your hands?”

Yeosang wiggles his fingers at him. 

Oh. Right. “Magic?”

“Magic,” Yeosang agrees. He animates a few gummies with a word, and San watches in somewhat morbid fascination as some of them decapitate a few others and start swapping heads. 

But now that he’s thinking about magic and how it’s normal to Yeosang but not to him, there’s something he’s been wondering. Especially since Chuseok. “Your lifespan’s longer than mine. Do you have any family left? Or is it just your friends?”

Yeosang considers the question. “My parents are probably still alive, unless they were killed. But we operate much differently than humans, our parents don’t stick around long after we’re born. We form… ah, don’t laugh. A group of sirens in our language roughly translates to a choir. We form choirs with others of the same age, and that’s who we stick to. My choir was always more Wooyoung’s than mine, but they liked me well enough. It helped that we all had their own friends, once we decided to stay in Haven. We all spent a lot of time with non-siren friends, and there was never any resentment over it.”

So his friends really are his family. San wonders who, exactly, is in his choir, but doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to push. Yeosang will share if he wants to. 

“I miss them,” Yeosang says, perhaps unnecessarily. 

San reaches over, rests his hand as close to Yeosang’s as he dares. “You’ll see them soon.”

He thinks, then, that Yeosang’s returning smile is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

* * *

“Again.”

“I  _ can’t,” _ San snaps. He faces Yeosang, scowling, and distantly hears the bucket crack. He’s not angry. He’s frustrated. Yeosang keeps telling him that it’s simple and he just needs to calm the water but it’s  _ not _ and he can’t do it and it’s not fucking simple and it  _ grates _ on him. “It’s not working, and I’m trying my best, okay? I know I keep fucking up, I’m  _ sorry, _ but I have no idea what I’m fucking doing and you’re. Not.  _ Helping.” _

“You melted the tuning fork,” Yeosang says. “You mastered the lift incantation in a day, you clearly have  _ some _ unnatural ability, you just don’t believe in yourself.” 

“Believe in my—of course i don’t believe in myself!  _ I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. _ I don’t even know what I’m doing here, I don’t know who my parents really are, I don’t know why it took me so long to figure out that my entire family’s filled with psychopaths, what about any of that screams ‘I know what I’m doing’?” When a dam cracks, the water trickles out slowly at first. And then, soon, the water erodes at the crack and everything just floods out. He knows he should stop there, but it just keeps coming and coming. Built up and repressed since the incident this year.

“San—”

“I’ve been a failure since birth, in the eyes of the only people that mattered. I couldn’t do anything, especially with them towering over me all the time—I couldn’t complete my degree even without them constantly around and the moment their pressure disappeared I dropped out! I’ve spent so long doing what they want that I don’t know who I  _ am _ , without them around to dictate it. I came here because I thought maybe,  _ maybe _ I could gain control over  _ some _ part of my life but everything gets worse the longer I’m here.”

“San—”

“I don’t have friends, people fucking terrify me, I’m trying my best to keep my head above the water in this fucking town but I haven’t relaxed since before I got here and I’m  _ trying _ but I can’t even do this stupid ring incantation, and you said it was supposed to be easy!”

His breath rattles as he inhales, and his vision blurs around the edges. 

“There’s something  _ wrong _ with me, I don’t know why magic sometimes comes to me easy as breathing and sometimes is utterly impossible, I don’t know how I managed to figure out the lift incantation, I’m tired and I can’t sleep and I can’t focus and I keep remembering things that can’t have happened and it fucking terrifies me, Yeosang.”

_ Yeosang screams, bloody and ragged. Different from when San first found him in the cellar—this is fresh blood. He’s lying on the rock in the cove. _

The vision takes San by surprise and then his knees are buckling and he’s falling, unable to regain control soon enough to catch himself, but then Yeosang’s there, holding his arms, holding him up, pulling him close. “San?” He asks, worried. 

“I don’t—” San twitches, full body shiver. “I saw—”

Yeosang’s hand presses to the back of his neck and it feels  _ different, _ somehow. If San thinks hard enough about it he thinks he can feel Yeosang’s magic curling around his. “Show me.”

“I can’t.”

“San.”

San pulls himself up, just in time for it to hit him again. His head  _ aches, _ pulses, trying to escape his skull. 

_ There’s a knife in Yeosang’s stomach. His tail lashes, a desperate bid for freedom from a limb not intended for land.  _

Yeosang inhales sharply, his grip tightening. “What…?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, hoping he’s not going insane. He can’t be going insane. 

“You’re not going insane,” Yeosang says, gentle for the first time since San met him. “That was a memory. But I don’t remember that, I would definitely remember that—”

_ “This is what happens to freaks.” Someone’s hand keeps San’s head up. Her voice is familiar. “Do you want this for yourself, San?” _

_ Yeosang cries out, again, and San couldn’t close his eyes if he tried. He reaches out—not physically, but metaphysically, with magic, to aid or to comfort he doesn’t know—he reaches out and Yeosang stills momentarily.  _

_ “We just want what’s best for you.” _

_ “NO!”  _

_ And Yeosang screams. _

San retches, in reality, twists to the side so he doesn’t spew chunks directly into Yeosang’s face. He narrowly misses Byeol, but she doesn’t even hiss at him, anxiety in every fibre of her tiny body as she looks up at the two of them. 

“Fuck,” Yeosang grunts, and hefts San a little bit so he doesn’t have to bend his neck so much. He’s paler than usual. “Shit. Are you…”

“I’m sorry,” San says, when he can talk again. “I don’t know what that is. I’ve been seeing things… I thought they were my memories of the last time I came here, until I saw you.”

“I believe you.”

San can’t look at him, not without seeing—so much fucking blood, fuck. “I don’t—I’m—”

“San,” Yeosang says. He tilts San’s head—gently, not at all like the person (his mother. It was his mother) who held him and forced him to watch. 

There, above the bucket, floats a perfect ring of ice.

“You’re not a failure.” 

And San—he  _ breaks.  _ The tears come before he can stop them, ugly sobs wrenched from his throat. He’s not a pretty crier, but Yeosang doesn’t care, pulling him close into a hug, even though San’s probably getting snot and spit all over his (San’s, technically) shirt. San can only clutch onto his arms as his shaking gets uncontrollable, the hand in his hair and the hand on his back grounding him. They fall to the ground, at some point, Yeosang no longer able to hold San up and keep standing, but San barely even registers it. 

He chokes down his sobs, as the tears slow, until he’s breathing in-2-3-4, out-2-3-4, completely drained. 

“You’re not a failure,” Yeosang repeats, and San makes a noise but Yeosang shushes him. “And that vision, whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll help you figure it out.” 

“We both know you’re going to leave,” San whispers. It’s a statement of fact, not an attempt at coercion—though how ironic would that be, for San to manipulate Yeosang with words?—he just doesn’t think he could take it. If he believes it, if this specific promise is broken, he knows it will break him. He doesn’t want empty words. 

Yeosang’s quiet, unsure how to respond. 

“It’s okay,” San says. He wipes his eyes, pushes himself up. Yeosang’s arms fall to his sides and he doesn’t follow suit, so San swallows and looks away. “It’s okay. I’ll figure something out on my own after we get you out. Don’t worry about it.”

“What you saw—”

“Like you said, you would’ve remembered it if it had actually happened. If it actually happened you’d probably be—”  _ dead.  _ They both know what he was about to say. “So it doesn’t matter. It’s probably just nightmares. I’ll be fine.” He glances at the vomit, and narrowly restrains himself from retching again. “I’ll clean that up later, don’t worry about it.”

And San leaves him there, kneeling on the cold concrete floor of the cold concrete house, and tries not to wonder what he’s thinking. The moment’s passed. San will get a better grip on himself. 

It won’t happen again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna try making the magic words in a dif font but im too tired of cs,,, i took one look at the html and was like nahhhhhhh ive done enough of that today man. i havent even used html in like. years. bleh
> 
> anyway i hope this lived up to your expectations im a little behind on writing (i had an interview this week aaaaaaaah it was veeery stressful) but i wanted to post anyway ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ we'll see if i regret that


	4. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which shit hits the fan and woosan go on an adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuity is my weakness ft. computer science degree ex machina 
> 
> jongho’s brother, san’s parents, and every other one of san’s family’s Hunting Pals are Not Based On Real People. Any resemblance, name or otherwise, is mere coincidence. I literally opened wikipedia’s “common korean given names” page, covered my eyes, and pointed randomly at the screen lmaooooo 
> 
> cw semi-graphic(? or maybe just graphic im not sure): violence/blood/guns  
> non graphic: mentions of human sacrifice, shark bite, physical assault, discomfort with skinship, and murder of a child. derogatory insinuations that two people have hooked up even tho they haven’t.
> 
> (sidenote i decided to just make this arc all one fic so im using chapter names as indications of pov, and there are many more chapters now thanks sorry for being indecisive lmaooo)

They haven’t made much progress with the ritual research. They found a few promising ones, but for all of them there was something missing. Nothing fit. 

San enters Cap’s already tired, and when Hongjoong waves hello he can’t help but groan and put his head down at the thought of even opening his mouth to talk. 

“Rough day?” Hongjoong asks. He runs his fingers through San’s hair. It feels nice. 

“Kinda,” San says, melting into the plastic of the counter. “Rough month.”

Hongjoong laughs through his nose. “You’ve been here for like two weeks.”

That sends a fission of alarm through him, and it takes a second to place it. “Oh, shit,” he says, sitting up abruptly, leaving Hongjoong’s hand floating. “It’s been two weeks.” He’d originally planned the trip to be just two weeks, though Taehyung had said it’s fine if he needs to take longer. But that means the trial—shit. It’s soon. It’s very, very soon. He’s running out of time. 

“San?” 

He snaps back to reality. “Sorry. Just a little surprised.”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says with a laugh. “Clearly.”

San’s just about to leave, to flee back to Yeosang and the privacy of his house when the door opens, and lo and behold… 

Changbin waves. Han squints at him, and San is, once again, no thoughts head empty only fight or flight. But then Han waves too.

San hasn’t seen either of them since the thing in Han’s store. He’d thought the whole kicking him out thing (or whatever that was) meant Han didn’t like him, but that doesn’t appear to be the case…? 

“Careful,” Hongjoong says, pulling San’s attention back to him. 

“Of?” 

Hongjoong just smiles, and juts his chin at the door. San recalls what he said about Mingi’s botched initiation. He hasn’t hurt Changbin and has no intention to, but still.

He takes the opening as it’s given to him and leaves. 

Yeosang’s sitting under the awning on the balcony when San gets back, staring out at the sea, uncaring of the wind whipping his hair into his eyes, or the rain occasionally carrying over despite the cover. San’s soaked from his walk and is about as happy about it as a cat being given a bath, but he pauses at the door. 

It hasn’t been  _ tense _ between them, per se. Not even stilted. But ever since that day, there’s just been an awareness in the air. It’s peculiar. San’s really not sure what to make of it. 

“I miss swimming,” Yeosang says, like San isn’t stanchly aware of his (justified) intense yearning for open water. (There’s only so many hours one can spend in a bathtub before one gets bored.) “Storms were always fun, for us. The waves would roll quicker and higher and we could go tumbling around under the surface without worrying about being spotted. And humans usually stayed inside when the rain came out, so even if we popped up, between the rainfall and the lack of people, we weren’t ever seen.”

“Sounds like fun,” San says. “Kind of like surfing, then?”

“A little. Less worry about falling, I think.” Yeosang sighs. “I didn’t find anything of note today.”

“Me neither.”

They sit there in silence, listening to the rain and the water. 

San’s still restless, thinking about the trial. Everything should go smoothly. He  _ knows _ that. His lawyer is one of the best, and he’d said it would go smoothly, so it  _ will.  _ It has to. 

He hopes his sister’s okay. 

Eventually Byeol starts yelling for food, unwilling to brave the outside despite there being a cover where they’re sitting, and San jolts, having lost track of time. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he says. Yeosang doesn’t move, still watching the sea. “Take your time.”

He heads in to feed the cat. He makes his own dinner (seafood stew, which he’s been craving), and leaves a plate wrapped in foil for Yeosang, for whenever he comes back inside.

* * *

San doesn’t really know what to think.

Earlier in the week, he’d come back from the library and hadn’t been able to find Yeosang in any of the usual places. He’d escalated to checking all the bathrooms, in case one of them had a bigger tub and Yeosang had stumbled upon it and decided to go for a soak. But nope, nothing.

He headed to the kitchen, wondering if maybe Yeosang was hanging around there, but on the way he tripped over something soft and only barely caught himself before faceplanting. In his defense, it was dark and he’d been getting in the habit of keeping the lights off when he can to be less of a burden on Yeosang. He usually finds his way around perfectly fine. Usually.

“Um,” San had said. 

The soft thing he’d tripped over wiggled. “Hi,” Yeosang had said from somewhere near San’s ankle, wetly. Like he’d been crying.

“Why are you lying on the floor in the dark?”

Yeosang sniffed. “You’re out of Clorox wipes.”

He’d been cleaning, it turned out. Partly out of boredom, partly because he wanted to be at least marginally helpful while San continued “wasting” his time in Haven and neither of them made progress in research. But San had already used up a majority of the cleaning supplies he’d bought to clean the fridge (which, to be fair, was a Herculean task and San doesn’t regret the amount of Clorox he’d used), and Yeosang had run out pretty quickly. When San asked why he hadn’t duplicated/conjured them like he had the tomatoes and eggs, he’d been silent for a moment before mumbling something about illusions and the magic involved not leaving a long-lasting effect on the physical world. 

So he  _ hadn’t  _ needed to clean anything after the fruit destruction!

Regardless. San had comforted him, and they’d done what they could together with soap and water. San went to the store the next day for more wipes.

It was only when he was getting ready for bed that night, though, that he realized he’d held onto Yeosang without a problem. And, before, when he’d freaked out, Yeosang held onto him.

It’s not like San goes out of his way to avoid skinship. He just gets jumpy, and sometimes wants to climb out of his own skin when people touch him. The hug with Mingi, Hongjoong patting his head—those are fine, because they’re short term contact. But anything longer than a brief hug or handshake is a problem. He has a few exceptions—his sister can hug him and cuddle for a few minutes before his hands start shaking—but other than that he just  _ can’t _ . Which  _ sucks,  _ because he’s always touch starved, yet can’t accept most people’s touch. 

Not with Yeosang, though. He spent at least ten minutes hugging him close, hoping it’d be enough to help, not even realizing that he hadn’t felt uncomfortable at all.

And beyond that, too. San’s not sure if it’s a siren thing or a Yeosang thing, but Yeosang’s always up for cuddling, apparently. They haven’t outright cuddled, but he’ll linger when he’s handing something off and their hands touch. And sometimes San will sit on the couch and Yeosang will sit next to him, even if there’s a whole meter of empty couch on the other side. Yeosang likes close proximity. That much is obvious.

And for once, San doesn’t mind.

So he’s not sure what to think. He’s not sure why Yeosang’s special. 

But it’s nice. And if one day, when they’re sitting on the couch, San leans slowly to the side and rests his head on Yeosang’s shoulder, and Yeosang doesn’t react besides softly smiling at the book he’s engrossed in and reaching up to comb through San’s hair, then what? San’s comfortable, despite being a little uncomfortable not knowing  _ why  _ he’s comfortable. 

He near purrs when it happens, turning his face further into Yeosang’s shoulder and digging his nails into his own thigh because he wants to disintegrate, right here. He feels as if he could float away, dust in the wind, ascending human existence because of how  _ good  _ it feels to be close to someone like this. And Yeosang lets him stay like that, Yeosang doesn’t push him away. They just sit together, quiet, tranquil, and San begins to drift off.

It’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in a while.

* * *

He feels sticky. For lack of a better word. 

When San was younger—and he doesn’t like to think about when he was younger anymore because most of those memories are tainted by his parents, but—when he was younger he had this babysitter who would take him to the fair. Or maybe boardwalk? It was by the ocean and there were rides he was too scared to go on and stalls with sickeningly sweet candy and greasy fair food. His babysitter had gotten him the taffy he wanted, and he was working that over in his mouth when she suggested going on a ride. 

And the thing is, he was scared! He was very scared. But she was cool, and he wanted to impress her because he  _ craved  _ praise from people older than him. He’d realized early on that it was much easier to impress others than his parents, so he took every opportunity given to live up to his teachers’ expectations of him—and his babysitter’s, and even his friends’ parents’, once he realized they weren’t like his own. So, he went on the ride with her, hiding his shakes as the car climbed the first hill. There was a drop coming. He knew there was a drop coming. 

When it came, he couldn’t scream, because the taffy was thick and sticky and practically glued his mouth shut. He settled for chewing on it, trying to swallow it down, but he could taste bile on his tongue and it made the taffy cloyingly sweet, too sweet, and he wanted to spit it out more than anything but it’d hit one of the people behind him if he did, so he just kept chewing. 

Wind in his face, stomach left behind at the top of the first peak, over-sweet taffy in his mouth. He couldn’t scream. He had to just keep chewing. 

He’s being unnecessarily poetic. There’s really just no other way to… to quantify, maybe, how he feels. 

“Pass me that dictionary,” Yeosang says absentmindedly, and San startles, pretends he was engrossed in his book the entire time. He passes it over. “You’re staring.”

Okay. So he noticed. 

“Sorry,” San says sheepishly. “Lost in thought.” It’s the truth. But, he thinks, not the whole truth. 

Whatever this is between them feels like that roller coaster. San’s left his stomach on the peak of the day he’d walked into the cellar, and the air between them glues his mouth shut. Taffy stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wants to say something, but he can’t. Their friendship is too raw. San’s pretty sure it wouldn’t be able to take him saying what he wants to say. He doesn’t even really know for sure what he wants to say, because he doesn’t really know for sure what’s happening, with him. So he has to keep chewing on it on his own.

And San’s pretty sure Yeosang’s just gonna ditch him the moment he gets out. San’s a walking reminder of a better time and a worse time both at once, and he gets that. He does. But Yeosang’s the first person he’s gotten close to—the first person he’s  _ allowed _ to get close—since… ever. So.

“San,” Yeosang says gently. He sets the dictionary down. “Do you need to take a break?”

Not from research, no. From everything else, yes. But he hasn’t been sleeping well, even despite Jongho pulling him out of nightmares where he can, so a nap won’t do any good. And if he does anything else—relaxes, goes out to town—he’ll just be worried the whole time, thinking of what he could be doing to help, thinking that he’s wasting time. “No,” he says. 

“Okay,” Yeosang says, but he clearly doesn’t believe him. 

They haven’t made much progress at all, and for now that’s okay because trial aside they don’t have a strict time limit—but there’s something looming on the horizon. It’s gone too well, so far. San feels like he’s forgotten something, like he’s left his wallet at home but he’s ordered food at a restaurant and the waiter’s coming with the bill.

But for the life of him, he can’t remember what it is. 

* * *

(“You disgust me,” Jongho’s brother says. 

Jongho’s breathing hard, from where he’s been knocked to the ground. The sand gets into his pants, digs into his palms and his knees, but he can’t find the strength to stand. He tastes blood. 

“Is it your pet fish? Your  _ boyfriend _ ?” His brother slaps him, again. “How good is fish dick that you betray your own family, huh?”

“Stop,” Jongho rasps, but it only riles him up more. The shark swims closer, maybe sensing Jongho’s distress. He wants to scream out, tell him to  _ stay away, he can handle it _ , but he can’t. 

“Always knew you were useless.” And his brother rears his hand back to slap him again, but the shark is close enough, now, and bursts out of the water.

Jongho’s knocked to the ground, so he can’t see what happens. Spots dance in his vision. He hears screaming, like it’s from far away. He’s vaguely aware that it’s coming from right next to him, and something warm splatters across his legs, and the screaming gets louder, and there’s shouting from nearby, a  _ crack _ that has to have been a gunshot, and then a heavy weight collapsing onto his body. 

It’s too much for him. He drifts, and as he drifts, he hears a quiet, familiar voice whisper,  _ “I’m sorry.” _ )

* * *

San sits up, groggy, groaning at the brightly lit  _ 4:09am _ on the alarm clock. That was… intense. More intense than Jongho’s memories usually are, and that’s saying something. Why is Jongho showing it to him now?

It has to have been the night the two of them disappeared. He wonders if Yeosang gets some satisfaction with knowing he tore the man’s hand off. Or if he regrets it, if Grandfather made him pay, throughout his captivity. 

San slumps back onto his bed, and jumps halfway out of his fucking skin when he sees a shadow in his doorway before he realizes who it must be. He switches on the lamp, shielding his eyes from the light.

“Yeosang,” he rasps. “What’s up?”

His eyes are red. San thinks there might be tear tracks running down his cheeks, but he can’t tell for sure with the dim lighting and the sleep in his own eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

“Nightmare,” he mumbles, rubbing his face. “It’s too… the shadows, and this house… Can I… can I stay here? I can sleep on the floor.” It’s clear he’s expecting a rejection. 

But what the hell, right? It’s a queen sized bed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“Are you—”

“I take up less than half of the bed and I don’t move,” San says. “You could sleep on the other side and we probably wouldn’t even touch each other.”

That’s all the encouragement Yeosang needs, apparently, as he climbs under the covers. San switches off the light and squints over. Yeosang’s just staring up at the ceiling, the red clock numbers reflecting in his eyes. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yeosang huffs. “I don’t know.”

Fair. San snuggles down into the bed, trying to find the warm and comfortable spot he’d been lying in before he’d woken up. 

“I dreamed that you died,” Yeosang says, eventually. For an awful moment, San stops breathing. “Your family came here because they knew something was up, and they found you helping me, and they made me watch, this time, while they killed you.”

_ This time. _

“That won’t happen,” San says, trying to sound more confident than he is. 

Yeosang scoffs. “You don’t know that. Jongho never thought we’d be discovered, but—”

“Jongho’s parents were in the area when you two were running around,” San says. “They were bound to notice something eventually. My family is nowhere near us right now. Even if they come here, only Grandfather knows where the cellar is, right? He’s in the hospital for health problems, he’s not leaving Seoul anytime soon. Unless he tells them—and he’s a stubborn bastard, he wouldn’t even dream of it—we can hide there.” The situation gets more and more Parasite-like as time goes on. Yikes. “But it won’t come to that, okay?”

Silence. San wonders if he said something wrong, but then Yeosang says, quietly, “Health problems?”

“An infection,” San says. He props up on one elbow. “No doctor can figure out what it is. All they know is that it came from the untreated shark bite on his wrist. Festering over the years.” San knows it’s cruel to smile, but cruelty deserves cruelty, right? “So you got him, in the end.”

Yeosang laughs, bitter. “I guess I did.”

Silence, for even longer. 

“I just keep seeing it,” he says. He turns to face San, finally. “It was brutal.”

His eyes—San’s breath catches. Different from when he was transformed, where he had pale yellow eyes. This is more similar to seeing a dog or a cat in the dark. The light reflects, but gently, so they almost glow. 

He looks away. “Sorry,” he says. “I know my eyes—”

“They’re beautiful,” San says. Yeosang chokes. “Really,” San insists. 

“Okay,” Yeosang says awkwardly, then, moving them back on topic, “You’ve done too much for me, watching you die for me was overwhelming. I can’t deal with a loss like that again.”

Jongho had said something similar at Chuseok. San opens his mouth, intent on telling Yeosang he’s worth every moment, when something occurs to him. “Oh,” he says instead. “ _ Oh. _ You read that letter, right?”

It takes Yeosang a second. “Jongho’s?”

“He said something about the moon.” San’s barely listening to him now, mind whirling at the implications. “And timing. And his family planning a ritual.” They stare at each other. “Yeosang. He can’t have died too long after he wrote that letter.” San’d read a little bit about powering rituals. Blood, for weak ones, like Wooyoung’s at Chuseok. Magic is a normal source. 

Life force is rare. Very rare. 

“You don’t mean—”

“They used his death as a step to the ritual?”

“It makes sense,” Yeosang says. He’s shaking hard enough that it shakes the bed, and San wants to reach over and hold him but… “It makes  _ too much sense.” _

Jongho had been fairly disgruntled about rituals during Chuseok as well. San can imagine being murdered for a ritual would do that to someone’s perception of them. 

“Human sacrifice is a whole different realm. We’ve been looking in the wrong places.” Yeosang shakes his head. “I don’t know how your family even found a ritual for something like that.”

“It’s not public knowledge, then.” So San can stop his trips to the library. 

“There are people in town who would know,” Yeosang says. “But… we shouldn’t risk it.”

“Yeosang,” San says, emphatic. “If that’s what they did, we need to take every chance we get to figure out how to break it. Even if it’s a risk.”

But he might have a point. If San was worried about being caught looking up normal binding rituals, he’s not sure how he’d even approach asking about binding rituals involving living sacrifice. 

“Who can I ask?”

“No,” Yeosang repeats. “I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll just ask around, then,” San says. “Since he’s obviously powerful, I could ask Han first—”

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang breaks. “You know him well enough by now, he won’t just—if you have to ask someone, ask Hongjoong. Don’t—” He reaches across, grabs San’s hand. Tight. Like he’s afraid San will just disappear. “ _ Don’t _ ask Han. If you ask Han something like that—give him a reason to think you’re a risk—he will  _ kill you. _ ”

San reassures him that he won’t, that he won’t even come within eyesight of Han, as far as he can prevent it. 

Yeosang doesn’t let go of his hand. 

“We should talk about that night,” Yeosang says. 

San doesn’t have to ask which. “Tomorrow.”

Yeosang sighs. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

Even after they whisper goodnight, Yeosang continues to shift, restless, worried. It wakes San up every time he thinks he’s close to sleep, and soon enough he sits up, tired of it. “Are you worrying?”

“Yeah.”

San makes a noise between a grunt and a sigh. “Come here.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, maybe the lateness, maybe because he was rattled by Jongho’s memory, maybe because he‘s thinking about himself and his own problems with skinship, but he does it. He knows Yeosang likes cuddling, so. It takes some maneuvering, and bodily heaving on San’s part (especially because Yeosang refuses to let go of his hand), but eventually they settle, Yeosang now curled semi on-top of him. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, brushing Yeosang’s hair back. 

Yeosang nods against San’s chest. “‘S good,” he mumbles. 

He’s already fading a bit, from what San can tell, so he relaxes. “Good,” he repeats. 

And Yeosang falls asleep quickly, after that, pressed close to San where he can. San, meanwhile, is left staring at the ceiling, wondering when the hell his life had turned into this.

* * *

(“If mercury stays there—”

“Venus will align—”

“No, you need to watch for the moon—”

“This shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“It’s only difficult because none of us have enough power. Especially you, Jongseok.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Jongho tries his best not to groan. He’s just woken up on his bed, surprisingly. His head pounds, and his hands are tied, and there’s still blood on his face from his own wounds, and blood on his legs from someone else.

“—ritual will work.”

He strains to hear more, but his family’s walking away. He hadn’t expected Jongseok to catch on to him and Yeosang, but that was his mistake. 

He’ll fix it. 

He has to.)

* * *

San feels, to some extent, like a rubber band poised to snap. Like at any moment, if someone pulls him just a little too far, he’ll break and sting their fingers. He can practically taste it in the air, ozone, and something sharp and metallic and bloody. Something’s coming. 

He adds to that, accidentally. He avoids Yeosang in the morning, clarity hitting him because he  _ really _ doesn’t want to talk about how fucking shitty his life has been, and he knows Yeosang will (still) want to talk about it. 

So he keeps his distance, and runs away when Yeosang is clearly about to ask. 

Not that it’s fair to distance himself from Yeosang when he’s Yeosang’s only human contact right now. But Yeosang will leave when they free him (as he should), so San shouldn’t get attached. 

He just needs to last until that happens.

But, he thinks, after running away for the nth time, he’s already attached. He  _ wants _ to reciprocate when Yeosang pats his shoulder, he  _ wants _ to sit by him on the couch. But he shouldn’t.

Besides. Even outside how fast moving and unnerving their friendship was— _ is _ —he might not be the one holding Yeosang captive but Yeosang  _ is _ a prisoner in San’s house and San refuses to fall into a fucked up Stockholm Syndrome… thing. Friendship. Whatever.

Byeol’s getting restless, too. As the days pass and nothing happens and it feels more and more like something should, her claws come out more often than not, and she becomes more prone to scratching at them both. It culminates one day when Yeosang reaches out to pat her head and she doesn’t notice it coming until his hand connects. She swipes at him, and usually it’s fine and he has thick sleeves or pulls away fast enough or she’s only doing it as a warning, but… she was too startled, and he was too tired, and he yelped so loud San heard it on the other end of the house, sprinting over to see what happened. 

What he finds isn’t an aggressive hunter but a guilty and distressed cat with blood on her paw and Yeosang, clutching his arm. 

“Just a scratch,” Yeosang mutters, but San insists on bandaging it anyway. 

“You don’t need any more infection risks,” he says. And it’s true. It’s only between the miracle of whatever salve recipes San’s been finding and Yeosang’s own water abilities that they’ve been able to keep his old wounds clean and unfestering. They’ve mostly healed by now, thankfully, but still. No need to push their luck. 

San has to hold his hand, to do it, though. Which really puts a damper on the whole distancing thing he’s been trying. 

So. It’s uneasy, as a whole. 

Hongjoong feels it too. 

Lots of the town is just going on as normal. San visited the grocery store and Lia was there, smiley as usual, and he only just resisted the urge to ask about whatever the hell he’s feeling because he doesn’t need to give her a reason to be suspicious of him when she’s one of the only people in the town who isn’t already. Yunho, Mingi, and Seonghwa haven’t been acting out of the ordinary, and San still doesn’t see enough of Wooyoung to tell, but Hongjoong… 

Hongjoong’s on edge. He’s dropped the water pitcher twice today, fumbled cash nearly every time someone paid. He has bags under his eyes and stares off into space more often than not. San hasn’t had the chance to ask him about rituals because he never seems to be free anymore. Something’s hungrily eating up his time.

San gets a hint to what it is when Han and Changbin’s red-haired friend comes in, one day. He says something quietly to Hongjoong and they disappear back into the kitchen together. Seonghwa comes out and smiles tiredly at San but it’s not any more tired than usual. “They’re working on a project,” he says when San asks. “Don’t worry about it.”

San’s worrying about it.

The day after isn’t any better. 

Or after that. 

“He overworks himself,” Yeosang tells him. “It’s probably nothing.” But Yeosang isn’t feeling what San and Byeol and maybe Hongjoong are feeling, so… so. So what?

The tension just keeps building, the taste getting more and more acrid in his mouth, and then… 

And then, one day, someone walks into the diner. 

People walk into the diner at all days of the week, of course, but this one…

Hongjoong stiffens, and San involuntarily shivers. It’s not like when Jongho passes through him, though, it’s like… like something rippled over him. Magic, maybe.

“Kim Hongjoong,” the woman says, slapping down a paper and leaning on the counter. She completely ignores San, and the rest of the patrons, who’ve all gone silent. “Long time no see.” San takes the opportunity of being functionally invisible and leans over to read who the paper’s addressed to.  _ Bang Chan, _ it says. 

“Would you mind making it longer?” Hongjoong asks. He’s gripping a pen so hard San’s afraid the ink’s gonna explode all over his palm. 

The woman laughs in a way that’s decidedly unhumorous. “You’ve always been a smart ass. Now tell me. How did you get access to the Choi property?”

It’s like a switch flips in San’s mind. The association between the woman and his name just jogs his memory, and he remembers her—a family friend. A  _ hunting _ buddy. Hongjoong’s pen creeks and San can feel Jongho getting restless and the rest of the diner is so so on edge—and the bell rang, when she entered.

Oh.

It’s an  _ alarm _ . Since the diner’s Hongjoong’s, he must manually ring the bell for himself, or something, to throw people off. He’s the only outlier, it must be something like that. It rings for Mingi. It rings for San. 

It rings for  _ humans.  _

“Come on,” she says, and Hongjoong glances at San but otherwise maintains his poker face. “Something was taken, and I just want to put it back.”

_ “Something was taken,”  _ Hongjoong repeats scornfully. “You know as well as I do that  _ monsters _ can’t enter Choi property without a member of the family.”

“It was taken,” she says, teeth bared in a way that makes her look distinctly more feral than Hongjoong. Who’s the monster here, exactly? “And regardless of who took it, we will make them pay.”

He supposes he’s lucky. Lucky that their messenger of choice hasn’t seen San since he was still chubby cheeked. Lucky that he was here, to witness whatever this is, so people can’t spread falsified rumors about his role in it. Lucky that Hongjoong isn’t giving him away.

“I’d like to see you try,” Hongjoong says. He smiles, too, much more pleasantly. “You’re an anomaly. I’m sure Chan just wanted to see what you’d do. We’re not letting the rest of you in, and you can’t break in.”

“No,” she says. “We can’t. Not without Dahye and Kyuwon.” Oh, fun. Bring his parents into this. “The half-fae and his pet witch are powerful, but Dahye and Kyuwon have something that they don’t.” She laughs, and San’s really starting to see her as a Disney villain. “But that’s not my secret to tell.”

The wave San had felt earlier must’ve been a distress call, because the door  _ slams _ open (the bell rings) and Han is standing there, fuming. Black hair shines rainbow in the reflections of the light. “Get out,” he says, and if Hongjoong’s magic is a ripple then his is a rip _ tide _ . It crashes down on San, and by the looks of it he isn’t even getting the brunt. The woman yells, but bites her tongue before long so as to not show weakness. “Get  _ out, _ ” he repeats, pure fury contorting his face. So this is why San’s always felt uneasy around him. Why he’s responsible for keeping the town safe. The sheer  _ power… _

She runs. 

“We’ll be back!” She screams over her shoulder, guttural and throat-ripping. “You can’t keep us out of our town!”

“Han,” Han and Changbin’s red haired friend says, appearing out of nowhere. “Boundaries.”

“Locked,” Han says. “We should be completely isolated. No one’s outside, right? Chan, did you check?”

“We’re accounted for,” Chan says. “Plus one.”

That’s him, isn’t it. He’d think it’s Yeosang, but if they could scan all the way through the Choi property, they’d have found him years ago. The problem for the hunters, then, seems to be that you can only access the property through the town. There’s no other way around. It’s like it’s own little bubble in the middle of hostile territory—no bridge. No gate. No way there but through. 

So San supposes that if Haven doesn’t believe him, he can hole up there, and then… cross the remaining bridges (ha) when he gets to them, despite practically island hopping, at this point. Still, that would suck. Stuck in between two factions that hate him—yeah, no. 

Han squints at him. “Why are you here, really.”

San swallows. “I came here to understand, but I stayed to try and fix some of the things my family’s done. It—” he looks in the direction the woman ran. “—got away from me, a bit.”

Chan nods at Han, who frowns. Shit. So San can’t lie. He’s about eighty percent sure that’s what Chan’s doing, checking for truths. Fae have a weird truth/lie thing. He doesn’t remember what it is exactly, so he can’t try to circumvent it. 

Han evidently thinks that’s good enough, because he moves on. “Do you know what she was talking about?”

“My family has a bunch of machines doing constant scans for magic. It transmitted locations and names. They had… an unorthodox power source.”

“And you removed it,” Han prompts. 

“And I removed… it,” San agrees. “They don’t seem too happy about that.”

“Are you going to put it back?”

There’s a very small period of time where San feels like he’s being flayed alive, laid bare for him to inspect. Every flaw. Every time he blindly followed his parents. 

The half-fae and his pet witch, the woman had said. Chan and Han. 

“No,” San says. 

A pause. Han nods. “Story checks out.” And then he turns and walks away, leaving a room of stunned diners, San, Hongjoong, and—presumably—Bang Chan. 

What… what? That’s it? Nothing about keeping an eye on him, he better not go running to his family, blah blah?

“Letter for you,” Hongjoong says drily, and slides the paper over to Chan.

“Thanks,” Chan says. He turns to San. “I don’t like threatening people, but if Han’s wrong about you, you’ll be dead before the thought even crosses your mind.”

“Got it,” San says. 

When Chan leaves, the bell makes a muffled noise, but doesn’t ring. Which pretty much confirms San’s alarm theory, because of the half-fae thing. 

“So what was powering it?”

San turns to Hongjoong, suddenly exhausted. The rest of the diner’s slowly returned to their meals. San wonders how they could possibly do that, knowing that there’s an immediate threat. Maybe they’ve spent most of their lives with an immediate threat. The thought doesn’t make him feel better. “I can’t tell you.”

Hongjoong frowns at him, but San doesn’t budge. He promised, after all. “Okay. Just be careful.”

Always, San doesn’t say, because that’s been proven to be false. “I’m surprised Han didn’t just… lump me in with the rest of my family, I guess.”

Hongjoong cuts his gaze over to him. “You remember what I said about him and kids, right?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’re twenty-one.” Hongjoong tosses something at him. He catches it, on reflex, and looks down to find… a jar of glitter? “You’re a kid to him. It’s Jongho, right?”

“Kind of?” It’s not a  _ lie. _ Jongho wasn’t powering the things, no, but Jongho was very involved in the situation, in general. “What’s this?”

“Emergency communications device. It’ll astral project you to me. Just in case something happens.” He taps the counter for emphasis. “Say my name to activate it.”

San looks down at it, then up at him. This is a stupid decision, he tells himself, but he’s definitely heard Mingi, at least, say it, so—“Thanks.”

Hongjoong tilts his head, equal parts confused and pleased. “Oh?”

“I trust you,” San says. “Maybe that’s a bad idea, but I do. So thanks.” He looks back down at the bottle. “About Jongho—”

“Mingi’s jacket,” Hongjoong says, before San asks. “And the things you were asking, you had to have been getting your information from somewhere. Then the ritual research.” Whoops. Looks like he didn’t cover up his tracks as well as he thought. “Jongho’s family wouldn’t have killed him on sight like they would have Yeosang. We could never figure out why they killed Jongho—that was the only thing that kept Wooyoung from straight up storming up there. This would also explain why Jongho couldn’t ever show up to Wooyoung’s Chuseok summonings, even when you were the one doing it.”

So Hongjoong thinks that the ritual bonded Jongho’s energy to the machines to power them, and now his ghost is floating around San asking him to help. 

Honestly? He’s not off by much. 

“I have to go back,” he says instead. “Unless you can tell me about human sacrifice rituals, I should… prepare.”

“I know a little,” Hongjoong says. “But not enough. I’ll look into it.” He frowns at the door. “Any other time I’d pull Han and Chan into this, but I’m sure they’re, uh, preoccupied.” 

“So that’s, like…” San looks at the door, too, like the mere mention of their names (nicknames?) will bring them running. Since Chan’s fae, that might actually be the case, so he feels justified in his concern. “Is Chan the… spokesperson of the town, or something?”

“Kind of,” Hongjoong says. “It’s complicated.”

“Everything’s complicated,” San grumbles. “I’ll come back tomorrow, hopefully the situation hasn’t worsened by then.”

“I wouldn’t hold out hope.” 

And with that happy note…! 

* * *

Yeosang is, understandably, unhappy with the news. “So your parents are coming.” 

“Seems like it.” Honestly San hadn’t expected the legal charges to hold them. Between money and… what was it Jongho said?  _ They could talk themselves out of a crossroads deal. _ Between money and that, they were always going to get out. It was only a matter of how long Taehyung could stall. 

And even if he lost, today, he did a fan-fucking-tastic job.  _ If  _ he lost today. It might still be going. The woman hadn’t specified. 

“Do you know what it could be that your dad has?”

“They didn’t tell me anything about the supernatural, remember? How the hell would I know?”

San had confided in Yeosang about that, earlier on. How there was definitely something off about his upbringing but he doesn’t know if it unnerves him more that there was a lack of magic, or that there should’ve been magic. 

“Right,” Yeosang says. He massages his temples. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s… I didn’t mean to snap. I’m sorry.”

“We’re both stressed.” 

San hums, strained. Here comes a Feelings(™) conversation. 

Yeosang sighs. “Can we please talk about—”

“I should get in contact with my lawyer,” San says loudly. “To see my parents’ ETA. It’ll give us an estimate of how long we have to prepare.”

Yeosang, thankfully, lets it drop. “Prepare  _ what, _ exactly? I mean I guess you could violently lift things, but—”

_ “Hey—” _

“Let Han deal with battle preparations.  _ We _ should focus on figuring out if there’s any more to those machines.”

That’s… a good point. They’d been so focused on getting Yeosang  _ out _ , they hadn’t thought too hard about what, exactly, San’s family has been using the machines  _ for. _ It is a bit dramatic for a hit list. Maybe that’s all it is, but maybe it’s not. 

“Are you sure about this?” San asks, when they’re standing in front of blank monitors and dead computers. They’ve jammed the router, and Yeosang’s confident he can keep anything from broadcasting.

“I’m sure.” 

This is the point where San should reach over, grab Yeosang’s hand in comfort, to let him know he’s here. But he doesn’t, and Yeosang doesn’t look like he’s expecting him to. 

The monitors flicker to life slowly, fans whirring as the computers flip on. 

“Okay,” Yeosang mutters. He leans forward to type. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.” Lots of typing. A few minutes go by, and San watches as he flips through the charts. Painstakingly.

He glances at the filesystem Yeosang has open, and the untouched terminal app on the dock. “Um.” He makes grabby hands at the keyboard. “My turn?”

Yeosang lets him. 

“Okay,” San says. He cracks his knuckles, just to be showy. “Ready?”

To be fair, the computers are old, and their filesystem is fucked. San’s about fifty percent sure what he’s typing is right, because he only barely touched on Linux commands in his one year of a computer science degree, much less whatever Unix-like system this is. It’s old. He checks the version and it’s, yeah, it’s from 1971. He’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to figure it out until he does, but when he does—when he does, the search  _ flies.  _

“That’s cool,” Yeosang says, peering over his shoulder. “You do computer stuff?”

“Used to,” San says, really not wanting to get into the dropping out of his degree program thing. “I remember enough.”

It turns up a few files. San selects the most promising just by appearance. 

It’s definitely promising. 

“‘...tentative procedure to test the effectiveness of constant low-level skimming’,” Yeosang reads. “Skimming. Not scanning.”

“Low-level enough that no one will notice.” San makes another search, changes the keywords. There’s a log,  _ scraped_m_log.md _ , and he opens it. 

“Oh,” Yeosang says. 

Yeah. Oh. 

So they’re definitely skimming magic. The file’s laid out like a bank statement, withdrawals and deposits and totals and names and locations. 

They scroll through it a bit, looking for a big deposit/withdrawal, and finally find one.  _ July 2, 2007. _ The withdrawal is… it’s almost all of what was built up. 

“Okay,” San says. “So. Unnerving as that is, we should figure out  _ how _ they’re storing literal magic.”

Yeosang, thankfully, plays along and  _ doesn’t _ mention how the only big withdrawal in the entire log is from the summer San was here. Oh, and now he’s thinking about it,  _ lovely. _ “It’s probably a spell. We shouldn’t waste time thinking about that, can you go let someone know what we found?”

“It’s—” San checks his phone. “—very late. I doubt they’ll be up and the people that are, are probably busy locking down the town. I’ll tell them in the morning.”

They should’ve checked earlier, San berates himself as they climb the stairs. They shouldn’t have just assumed it was a hit list. They should have  _ checked. _ But they hadn’t, and now they’re here, and San wonders if there was anything else they could’ve done differently, anything else they’ve missed. 

Instant noodles for dinner, because neither of them are in the mood to cook. It’s not  _ bad, _ but it’s not filling. 

The problem comes when they go to bed. 

San’s just burrowed himself under the covers, ready to block out the rest of the world for the (hopefully) eight hours he gets to be unconscious, when there’s a knock at his door. 

“Come in,” he says. 

It’s Yeosang, of course. There’s no one else in the house, unless Byeol learned to knock in the past few minutes. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “But I’m really—I can’t sleep.”

Looming threat of San’s family returning, yeah. 

Yeah. 

He thinks, for a moment, and decides, fuck it. Yeosang’s feelings are more important than his own, at this point. He pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Yeosang whispers, once they’re both comfortable as they can be with San being stiff as hell.

“I’m not—”

Yeosang reaches over, and San curls away. “You are.”

“It’s not…” He hesitates, unsure how to explain it. 

“It’s okay,” Yeosang says. “I shouldn’t have pushed you, and I shouldn’t be pushing now. Sorry.”

“That’s not it,” San whispers. “I just… Like I said, we both know you’re going to leave when we break whatever it is that’s holding you, and I’m already kind of attached. I don’t want to make it worse for myself. Because if I have an understanding of what I’m missing, then I don’t think I can go back to being alone. You’re just the first person…” It’s hard to explain the whole thing with wanting touch but hating it. Feeling gross and prickly and stuff where people touch him. But he manages. “But it’s not like that with you,” San finishes. “And that scares me.”

“I didn’t know,” Yeosang says. “I’m sorry I—”

“It’s not on you.”

They’re quiet, for a moment. “I’m really the only exception?” 

“That other night you came here, that—that was the longest I’ve… cuddled, I guess, with someone since I was a kid. The longest I could stand it. And I didn’t even feel gross in the morning, I just… I was fine.”

He wonders if there’s a better way to say this. To say that Yeosang feels familiar but strange all at once, like San’s had years to get used to him, years to gradually build up tolerance until he can hold him and be held for as long as he wants. They’ve known each other for  _ less than a month. _ He shouldn’t feel like this at all.

“I get what you’re saying,” Yeosang says, when San details this to the best of his ability. “From the start, I just trusted you. I was a little wary, but for some reason…” He frowns. “You’re not… Humans reincarnate, sometimes.”

“I’m not Jongho,” San says, because he’s absolutely certain on that front. He shivers. Jongho must’ve just pat his head. 

“Then I don’t know.” 

Silence grows, again, and San wants so badly to reach between them, pull Yeosang over like he did before, but he hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me everything about your life,” Yeosang says. “You don’t have to tell me anything at all. But if you want to… I’m here.”

For now, San doesn’t say. 

“I’m sorry for pushing you about your magic.”

“You want to get out,” San says. “It’s understandable.”

Yeosang scoots closer, slowly. Trying to see if San will pull back again. When he doesn’t, he pulls San closer and wraps him in a hug, pulling San’s head down into the crook of his neck. 

San would expect this to be awkward. Facing each other while lying in bed has connotations, doesn’t it? But he feels comfortable. More than comfortable. His mind is whirring, still, wondering why he can do this without panicking. Why, of all people, is it Yeosang?

Yeosang tugs him tighter, scratches gently at his scalp. “You’re thinking too loud,” he says quietly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

San was supposed to comfort Yeosang, wasn’t he? Impending doom and all that?

“San,” Yeosang says. “It’s okay. Go to sleep.”

He’s too tired to argue. His eyelids have felt heavy since Yeosang walked into the room. “Goodnight,” he mumbles. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The hand in his hair tenses, then relaxes. “Goodnight, Sannie.”

* * *

Hongjoong takes the information well, for what it is. “I’ll let Han know. If I find you a way out, around the encampment of hunters waiting to ambush people, will you be willing to go out and contact your lawyer?”

San, of course, agrees. 

It’s the least he can do. 

“There’s a system of tunnels through the mountain,” Hongjoong says. “You’ll need a guide to get through, but no one’s ever been able to find their way back. If you can figure that out, you’ll be set. No hunters will step foot into the tunnels. Not if they value their lives.”

“And how would I find a guide?” San asks. 

Hongjoong grimaces. “That’s the thing…”

There are very,  _ very _ few people who can navigate the tunnels. In a choice between Yeonjun (still missing), Yeosang (unable to leave the grounds), Changbin (probably won’t unglue himself from Han and Chan for anything), and Wooyoung, there's… really not much of a choice. And yeah, San’s been friendlier with Wooyoung lately, but friend _ ly _ does not equate to friend _ ship _ and San’s still not entirely certain how high his likelihood of survival is with Wooyoung at the helm of this boat. 

But, well. What else can he do?

So he collects Wooyoung’s address (2018 10th street. Why is he not surprised?) and heads over to try his luck. To his surprise, when Wooyoung opens the door to him he just stands aside silently. San follows him to his living room, which is, frankly, a complete wreck, and sits down where Wooyoung indicates him to. 

There’s takeout boxes from Cap’s all over the place, and sheets upon sheets of paper filled with calculations of some kind, and… dog toys? Does Wooyoung have a dog?

“I live with Yunho,” Wooyoung says when he sees him staring. And oh. Right. Yeosang had said dog spirit.

San doesn’t want to say Yeonjun’s disappearance is getting to him, but it clearly is. He has bruises under his eyes, and he keeps licking his lips like they’re chapped. Which is bad, for an aquatic being. If he’s not getting adequate water, it could be much worse than if a human dehydrated themself for a day or two. Think an orchid versus a cactus. 

“Wooyoung,” San says gently. He tilts his body into Wooyoung’s line of vision. “When was the last time you drank water?”

Wooyoung scowls at him. “Why do you care?”

“It doesn’t matter if I care.” He does. Sort of. He cares in the way anyone cares for an acquaintance. They don’t know each other, not really, but San thinks he could really care for him, if Wooyoung only gave him the chance to. Regardless, he doubts that’s enough for him, so. “Hongjoong does, and Seonghwa, and Yunho, and Mingi. And Changbin, and Yeonjun. Changbin and Yeonjun might not be physically present, okay, and I get that, I get that it’s lonely and it hurts and it fucking sucks, but do you really think they’d want you to self destruct like this? Is this really what you want? To torture yourself over something you can’t control?”

“You don’t know anything about us,” Wooyoung hisses, making to stand, but San reaches out and, surprisingly, he stops. 

“Yeosang’s alive.”

He’d asked him, this morning, if he could say something. Because he knew that Wooyoung would be falling apart, because he  _ knows _ that Yeonjun’s disappearance is too similar to Yeosang and Jongho’s and the reminder on top of the not-knowing must  _ ache. _ And Yeosang said yes, because the hunters know he’s out, by now. He has nothing to hide. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Wooyoung says. Cold. Not even angry. Just cold. “Don’t say his fucking name—”

“He’s alive—listen!” San tightens his hold on Wooyoung’s arm. He knows Wooyoung can break it. He’s much stronger than his body lets on, and San’s merely human. But he doesn’t. “You heard about why my family’s back, right?”

“You disconnected a battery, so what?” 

“I disconnected a power source,” San says. “I disconnected  _ him. _ ”

Wooyoung stares at him. “You’re lying.”

_“Why_ would I lie? Why now?” San gestures at the door, like that encompasses everything that’s happening. “I’ve spent the time I’ve been here trying to quietly get him out. It didn’t work out as we intended, but he’s still there and he’s _alive_ and I need you to get your shit together so you can show me through the tunnels so I can contact my lawyer and find out when the hell my parents are going to show up, because _when_ they show up, they’ll hook Yeosang back up to those fucking machines, and then we’re back to square one except _they’ll kill me_ and you’ll have _no one_ inside the property to help you.” 

Wooyoung sits down slowly. “Is he… okay?” 

“As okay as he can be.” 

He looks like he wants to ask a million more questions, but thankfully he seems mildly sensitive to their time constraint. “They’ll kill—?”

“Please don’t say it,” San groans. “That’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, I can’t—” he takes a (very shaky) breath. “Please.”

Wooyoung’s much more subdued than he was a moment ago. “You can’t know that your parents will be able to get in. Han is really fucking powerful.” 

_ They took your memories from you, _ Jongho had said, at some point.  _ I don’t know how.  _

Vague flashes, if he tries hard enough. His father kneeling in front of him.  _ Drink up, _ he says, and pours a foul smelling liquid down his throat. It tastes like candy. He whispers something, quiet, old. San blinks, and he’s in the car. They’re headed away from Haven. They’d spent the summer there, and San doesn’t remember.

But he doesn’t say any of that. “I don’t know much about Han, but no matter how powerful he is, my parents will give him trouble. Look, I’m not asking for you to go out and fight. Hongjoong said you could take me past their lines, and that’s all I need. Passage out and back.”

“That’s all?” Wooyoung repeats, derision dripping off the words. “Those tunnels aren’t normal tunnels. They’re not mapped, they’re not stagnant. The walls change every few minutes, there are hundreds of forks, the thing gets into your fucking head, time seems to go by too fast or too slow—turning your back for even a second could mean your death. It’s not  _ just _ tunnels. It’s a fucking maze.” He sits back. “If I led you there, could you lead me back?”

The myth of the labyrinth goes something like this. There’s a maze, a bull-man, a hero, and a string. The hero takes the string and ties it to a post, then unravels it as he walks. That way, he can follow the string back out. The hero fights the bull-man, and wins, and escapes. 

But that maze didn’t move, or change walls. That maze wasn’t sentient. San’s not sure how that’ll work, with string. Maybe it’ll be cut. Maybe it’ll get stuck. Maybe, maybe.

_ Maybe you’ll find something you didn’t know you needed. _

“Yeah,” San says. “I can.”

He sounds much more confident than he is. Wooyoung doesn’t protest, so there’s that. 

Yeosang also seems to think it’s fine, watching as San carefully picks up the string from the shelf he’d dropped it on, that one day. “Be careful,” he says, and his hand maybe lingers on San’s arm a little too long, but they both pull away, and San forces himself not to think about it. 

Wooyoung’s waiting at his restaurant. San had been almost surprised to learn that it was his—he remembers Changbin recommending it, and wonders if he’d been trying to provoke a fight. “Took you long enough,” Wooyoung says, but the taunting is minimal and he’s looking much more lively. Kind of like he took a nap and drank a few litres of water. “The closest entrance is in view of the hunters’ ranks, so we’ll have to go the long way.”

“If the maze bends time and space, isn’t every way the long way?” San quips. 

Wooyoung snorts. “The long way to the entrance, smart-ass.” But he’s definitely smiling a bit. San congratulates himself. 

Wooyoung’s not wrong. They walk through the town, into the part San hasn’t been before, given that it’s purely residential and he’s still not 100% on the locals not wanting him dead. He would not be walking here if he wasn’t with Wooyoung. As it is, a lot of people kind of side-eye him. Like they’re still not quite sure what to make of him.

“It’s pretty here when it snows,” Wooyoung says, seemingly apropos of nothing. “You should stay to see it.”

San doesn’t really have the brainpower to spare to decode that, but he assumes it means what it means without any jabs. “I might,” he says. “Mountain towns in winter are beautiful. Much nicer than cities. In Seoul, the snow all piles up on the sides of the streets and turns brown from the dirt.”

Wooyoung wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, sad. Definitely stay, then.”

“I might,” San says again. 

They reach the entry. It’s slightly hidden, in the folds of the rocks and the trees. A little bit up the mountain. 

San steps up to the door, and jumps back as immediately someone appears between them. “Choi San,” Han says. He smiles, and San expects it to be somewhat threatening but it honestly looks like he’s just beaming. He supposes Han doesn’t hate him after all. “Going somewhere?”

“He needs cell signal to figure out how much time we have before his parents arrive,” Wooyoung says before San can begin to explain. San’s thankful. Despite the friendly front, he hasn’t forgotten the oppressive wave of magic Han had emitted at Cap’s. He’s shaking a bit, just being in front of him. 

“You’ll bring the information back?” 

“I’m going with him.”

“What happened the last time one of you spent alone time with a black-sheep of that family?”

“Jongho didn’t do it,” San says, before Wooyoung can respond. 

“Just because he didn’t do it doesn’t mean he wasn’t the cause,” Han says, but he backs off the subject. “Just be careful. Both of you. I have to go, little bit of a party at the border. Glad to help.”

“I appreciate it,” San says earnestly. “Good luck.”

“Don’t need it.”

And with those confident (or cocky?) words, Han disappears. 

They find a suitably sturdy post to tie the string around. San worries a little that it’ll loosen, but Wooyoung is very confident in his knot tying skills, apparently, so they enter the maze, and that’s that. 

Or, well. That’s the start. 

Wooyoung wasn’t lying when he said the thing got into your head. San’s jumped at shadows ten times in the past five minutes.  _ And _ , he keeps looking back even though Wooyoung told him not to, and seeing something entirely different than what he just passed is decidedly unnerving. And disconcerting. Basically, he rates this whole experience -1/10. Would not repeat again. 

The ball of string in his hand never seems to get smaller, which is… good? But also unnerving. Unfortunately, Wooyoung doesn’t seem inclined to talk much for the first few minutes of their walk, so San’s left to stew in his head.

“Have you worked with magic before?”

San glances at him, then back at the string. “I’m not good at it. I can barely lift things. Why?”

“I want to know what we’re working with.” Wooyoung nudges him slightly to the side and they continue down that forked path. 

“Oh,” San says. Makes sense.

They sit on that for a moment. 

“So what’s up with them? Han and Chan? And Changbin, I guess. Are they… the leaders? Of the town? I asked Hongjoong but he just said it’s complicated.”

Wooyoung seems surprised at the question, like he thought San already knew. “Han’s very, very powerful, and Chan’s high ranked in one of the fae courts. Changbin’s close with them, but he isn’t really involved with running the town. Chan hasn’t been here as long as most of us, but he’s most… qualified to handle disputes, so he sort of became the unofficial mayor. As long as your family isn’t here, anyway, running things from behind the scenes.”

That last bit’s an unpleasant image. 

San recalls a documentary he’d seen on canned hunts—lions being raised, half-tamed, for hunters to kill. Once full grown the lions will be released into an enclosed space, and the hunters will follow.

Just for fun, right? Just a bit of sport?

What other purpose would his family have to “run” a town filled with the supernatural? If they hated non-humans so much why not just raze the town to the ground? Instead they sat on their mountain, looked down their noses, and didn’t even bother pretending to give a shit. 

In that vein, why wouldn’t anyone  _ leave? _

“Pride,” Wooyoung says, when he voices the question. “This was our land first. Your family settled here after us. None of us could abandon the place, it felt too much like giving into their whims. There was never peace, here, only tolerance.”

“Until Han threw them out.” It had to have been Han. Yeosang said he’s sort of a protector.

“Until Han threw them out,” Wooyoung agrees. “They went too far. I remember you, y’know? You were tiny.”

“Yeosang said the same.”

“You met him back then?” They pause, Wooyoung turning to him, to see his face as he answers. The flashlight flickers, and he curses, slapping it. “It shouldn’t be going out so soon.”

“I met him,” San says. “I think my grandfather showed him to me, to gloat. But I… I don’t remember that entire summer. So I don’t know for sure.”

“You’re cursed,” Wooyoung says. It’s not a question, but it should be. 

San doesn’t know, is the thing. He’s fairly certain, but he doesn’t know. Jongho doesn’t know either, and Yeosang hasn’t mentioned sensing a curse on him. Though Yeosang didn’t know for sure what magic was affecting  _ himself, _ either, so maybe… maybe. Maybe it’s family magic. “I remember my father,” San says. “I think. He cursed me.” The revelation hurts. Saying it aloud… hurts. 

“That’s why you need to know if they’re coming back.”

“Yeah,” San agrees. “And if they’re willing to curse their own kid, they’re willing to do a hell of a lot more shitty things to other people” 

Wooyoung nods, and gestures for them to keep walking. “Then let’s keep going.”

They walk for a while on a seemingly one-way path. San thinks he hears whispers from the walls, but like Wooyoung said, the maze gets into your head. So he thinks, instead, about his parents, and why they might’ve done what they did. “What did they do?”

“Hm?”

“Han’s been here for a while, right? He’s coexisted with my family for a while. What did my parents do that crossed the line?”

The flashlight flickers again. Wooyoung gives it a cursory glance, and San reaches a hand out to feel if it’s cold, if maybe it’s just Jongho. It’s not cold, and he feels a familiar chill brush up his upper back, so that rules that out. “They killed a kid.”

Ah. 

“You wanted to play with him,” Wooyoung says, not meeting his eyes. “He was a dog spirit. Like Yunho.” That’s a shot between the shoulder blades, shit. “They’d brought you to the beach because you wanted to see the ocean. He offered you a plastic shovel, and they—it’s a family beach. Right in front of—no one wanted to go back to the beach, after that, so we built a dock over it instead. That’s why—it’s almost… I can’t forget the screaming. Changbin and Yeonjun and I spent hours retrieving the—parts. Just because he wanted to make a friend.” 

“I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re fucking sorry,” Wooyoung says harshly, but he’s not angry. He almost sounds sad. “You were eight years old. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

San doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t. 

And look, the legal trouble his parents are trapped in—that’s murder, but second-degree. Purposeful, not premeditated—but hearing that, hearing how much disregard they had for life? That they’d do that to a kid, for trying to talk to San? The bile tastes sour as it rises, but he forces it down, focusing on unrolling the string. Maybe if he hadn’t insisted on going to the beach… 

But no. It cheapens the death, almost, to think like that. It was murder. There was intent. His parents murdered a kid. It’s on them. Not on him, or on the kid, or on the kid’s parents. 

The string still feels unchanged. It’s definitely unrolling—San can see it trailing behind them—but for some reason there’s just as much as there was at the start. 

“Almost,” Wooyoung says suddenly, and pulls San to the side. They slip through a crack in the wall and emerge in a cavern. 

It’s beautiful.

The walls and ceiling are painted, folk-style, a depiction of a story. People and animals, nature, rows upon rows of linear stories. In one—the nearest to them—a child grows into an adult. In the biggest—the one on the ceiling—San can see three men standing far apart, gradually becoming closer, until one is ripped away and the other two cross land and sea to get him back. That story shines brightly, compared to the closer one, which is covered in grime. 

“Prophecies,” Wooyoung says. He’s staring up at the ceiling, somewhat saddened. “The ones with dirt haven’t passed, yet.”

“The ceiling…” Red hair, magic, another realm. “Chan?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says. “Or Han, depending on how you see it.” 

Interesting. How does that work? Who wrote the prophecies, in the first place? How do they come to be? Could you choose to deviate, if you really wanted to? Or is it set in stone? The paint looks like it could wash away. 

In the center, on a little dais… “Byeol?”

Byeol meows, ears twitching. She doesn’t run to him, though. 

Wooyoung frowns, holds an arm out against San like he’s trying to be a seatbelt. “I don’t think that’s your cat.”

“But she—” She—they?—grooms themself, oblivious to the two humans speaking. “She looks so much like—”

“San,” Wooyoung says. “Remember where we are.”

Prophecy hall. Maze. Messing with his head. 

Right. 

Wooyoung hasn’t indicated that they should turn back, but he hasn’t moved forward either. 

“Do we…?”

“We need to keep going,” Wooyoung says. “But I can’t tell if it’s an illusion or if we need to be careful.”

“We can’t wait long,” San says. 

Wooyoung nods. “Slowly.”

They walk across the hall. It seems to stretch in front of them, elongating, taking much longer than it should. San, at some point, realizes he’s been clutching Wooyoung’s hand, but Wooyoung doesn’t seem to mind too much so he only tightens his grip, keeping in pace with him. 

As they pass the dias, the cat looks up. They stare, and from this angle their fur looks black. They distort, somewhat. Like they’re not a cat. Their gaze is heavy, not unlike Han’s, and San feels itchy like he wants to escape his skin. 

And then it stops. 

Wooyoung tugs San to walk faster, and he does, following him out the room. 

“What was that?” San asks, heaving. He hadn’t even noticed becoming out of breath. He lets go of Wooyoung’s hand as if he’s been burned, though, discomfort returning as the adrenaline fades.

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung says, looking at the door worriedly. “I’ve never come across anything like that in there before. Hopefully it’s not there when we come back.”

They’re in a hall, and at the end, San sees light. “Is that—”

“The exit,” Wooyoung confirms. “Come on.”

When they emerge, they’re at the base of the mountain, but maybe on the other side? There’s no one around at all, only the bunny they’d startled into hiding. San pulls out his phone. “I doubt there’ll be signal here, but it’s worth a try…” There  _ is _ signal. Barely. 

He checks his notifications—there aren’t many, thankfully. But there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach. He has ten missed calls, all from today. Something’s wrong.

His phone rings. It’s Taehyung.

He answers the call.

“ _ —n? S—hear m—? _ ”

“Taehyung?” San puts the phone on speaker and lifts it, trying to get a better connection.

_ “Pushed up—date—” _

“What?”

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

Way to state the obvious, Wooyoung.

“ _ —acquitted—on route—Haven— _ ”

“My signal’s terrible,” he says, hoping something’s going through to the man. “Can you repeat that?”

“ _ Your parents were— _ ”

“One more time,” San says, straining higher. 

“ _ —parents were—yesterday. They’re—to Haven now. ETA—. Do you hear me? ETA TODAY. _ ”

San nearly drops the phone.

“ _ I tried to reach you sooner. I’m sorry. Your sister’s safe. Be—don’t trust anyone. _ ”

Dial tone. 

“They’re coming, then,” Wooyoung says. He doesn’t sound surprised. “A trial was never going to hold them long.”

San doesn’t see it happen, it’s too quick. One second Wooyoung’s standing next to him and then next he’s on the ground, screeching, and San’s ears are ringing.

The grass is red. So, so red. 

“DOWN,” Wooyoung screams at him, and he, thankfully, comes to in time to duck. The next shot— _ sniper _ —just barely misses him. He drags Wooyoung bodily into the enclave that makes up the entrance and is about to haul him up to run back to town when he pauses. 

No one can know he’s here. 

It’s important. 

It’s really, really important. 

He doesn’t know why, not really, and is halfway up the first stretch of mountain before he registers what he’s doing, too far gone in the adrenaline and the fog that’s encroaching on his brain. 

_ He screams, and something burns through his veins, poisonous only as his body begins to reject it. He’s warring with himself, and  _ they  _ know they can use that. He can’t open his eyes. _

San gets level with the sniper easily, and from there it’s just—

_ “ _ _ Block. _ _ ” _

The sniper hears him, raises his handgun, cocks it, says something that should be threatening but his voice is shaking and San isn’t all there right now, anyway. He tilts his head, waves a hand. “Bye-bye.”

The sniper pulls the trigger. The bullet doesn’t leave the chamber.

Boom.

The air next to him turns static-y, and with the way San’s practically vibrating with  _ something, _ when he turns he can see an outline of a person. Jongho…? 

San returns to the tunnel. He can’t afford to stop and think now. The sniper is dead and Jongho, somehow, absorbed their magic.

“What the  _ hell _ were you doing?” Wooyoung demands, but San shakes his head, hauls him upright. 

“Can you walk?”

“San—”

“Can you walk or not?”

Wooyoung grunts. “I can.” The sniper got his shoulder. Probably was aiming for the chest, but Wooyoung must’ve been turning. He is very, very lucky. “We need to warn Han.”

“Focus on getting you aid,” San says. “You can’t shrug that off, siren or not—you’re going to bleed out.”

“Drop me in the fucking ocean then.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” San says. “You don’t have backup, and you’re  _ bleeding _ . Aren’t you a fish?”

Wooyoung snarls at him. It would be more threatening if he didn’t yelp from pain immediately afterward. “Betta fish.” Somehow that makes a lot of sense. “If you won’t take me to the water, take me to Yeosang.”

“You know that means—”

“I don’t  _ care,”  _ Wooyoung says. “I don’t care if you could potentially trap me in your stupid house. I was just  _ shot _ and you gave me too much of a reason to hope that I can see my best friend one last time before we break out into a fucking war, so I want to fucking see him.”

San has the jar Hongjoong gave him. He can contact him from the house. “Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s go.”

It’s all San can do to roll up the string as they stumble along, lest someone find that entrance and follow a perfectly laid path into Haven. They pass rooms and halls San doesn’t remember passing on the way in, and they don’t come across the prophecy hall until somewhere near the end. San’s not sure how he knows it’s near the end, when the string hasn’t changed and he’s lost track of time, but it’s near the end and when they step in, the dais is empty. 

But the prophecy—the one with the kid—it’s more visible. Like someone’s taken some time to try and clean it. With that comes a more clear picture. There’s something growing inside the kid, something so bright white that it’s practically nothingness. It grows as the kid grows, and in the end, the white takes over. The last panel is blank. 

San glances up, at Han’s prophecy, and then back at the wall. “You don’t think—”

“We need to keep going,” Wooyoung says. But he sees what San sees. San hopes he’s just imagining the fear on his face. 

They emerge, soon, back where they started. Somewhere between the prophecy hall and there, Wooyoung’s knees had buckled and San had had to support him by throwing Wooyoung’s arm over his shoulder. It’s blood loss, he’s pretty sure. They’re running out of time. San doesn’t bother untying the string, just drops it and keeps going. He half expects Han to show up again, as they pass into the boundaries of the town, but there’s nothing. He hopes that’s a good sign. 

At the gates, Wooyoung hesitates. “It’s not too late to turn back,” San says.

He doesn’t turn back.

“He should be in the library.” 

Wooyoung scoffs. “Of course you have a fucking—“ And he stops. Complete silence, complete stillness.

San turns to the doorway to see Yeosang, eyes wide and startled to a stop. “Oh. Hey,” San says. 

“Did you get  _ shot?”  _ Yeosang says to Wooyoung, finally, when he finds his voice. Wooyoung makes a strangled noise and tries to push off San like he’s an Olympic swimmer and San’s the side of a pool, which doesn’t quite work—thankfully Yeosang’s reflexes are quick and he catches him, but his muscles are still fairly weak so they just both go toppling over like a lost jenga game.

“You’re—you’re—it’s really—fuck,” Wooyoung says, or some variation of those words. He latches onto Yeosang, desperation in every fiber of his body.

“I’m gonna—I’ll be back,” San says. He’s ignored, but he expected that. “You should probably put him in water…?” Still no answer, okay.

He secludes himself, because he doesn’t know what emergency astral projection entails. The jar of glitter is just as unassuming as it was when Hongjoong gave it to him. And that, of course, is when he realizes that he doesn’t actually know Hongjoong’s Name. “It can’t be that hard,” he mutters. “Kim, Park, Lee… Kim Hongjoong?” That’s not… quite right.  _ “ _ _ Kim Hongjoong. _ _ ” _

Miraculously, it works.

Astral projection, it seems, means being sucked through a tube until he lands with a jolt at his usual seat in Cap’s. But that’s not all—because when he looks up, Jongho’s standing there, looking just as shocked as he is. 

“I should’ve expected this,” Jongho says. “Hongjoong did say astral projection.”

“Uh,” San says. 

“He won’t be able to see me. He hasn’t been able to see me. It’s just you,” Jongho says.

Great.

Hongjoong emerges from the kitchen, then, and stops short at the sight of him. As Jongho said, he doesn’t seem to notice that San isn’t quite alone. “We’re closing,” he says without looking up. The patrons all stare at him, confused. “Go home. Now.”

It takes a moment, but he sounds serious enough and is, from what San can tell, respected enough that they don’t really question it. 

“Is Wooyoung—”

“He got shot, but he’s fine.”

“You were noticed?”

“I took care of it.” San chokes back bile, grimacing. It’s becoming a common occurrence and he’s not really happy about it. He’s absolutely not thinking about how he killed a man. Not now. He’ll have time to reevaluate himself later. “I don’t know why exactly but  _ none of them _ can know I’m here. It’s important. I remember something weird—please trust me. It’s better for everyone that they don’t know where I am.”

“Okay,” Hongjoong says, and San would think it’s merely a platitude if he didn’t look as worried as San feels. “I’ll tell Han, he can cast a secrecy spell.”

“And it’s today—my parents are coming today. I doubt they’ll be able to break whatever Han’s doing but—”  _ He whispers something old, quiet.  _ “They’ll find a way to sneak in.”

Hongjoong sends off a wave of magic that must be a message. “I let them know. But… you know something.”

San swallows.  _ Something old. _ “I think I do. I’m not sure. I don’t want to alarm anyone, so—”

Hongjoong tries to touch him, comforting, but his hand goes through San’s arm. “Tell me.”

“I shouldn’t. I need to know for sure.” 

“San—”

“You know they do magic, right?”

“It’s pretty well known at this point, yeah. Even in hunter communities.”

_ Bang. _

Someone’s slamming something on the door. A butt of a gun, maybe. “Open up.”

San jerks back. He knows that voice. From the look on Hongjoong’s face, he recognizes it too.

“You need to go,” Hongjoong says, waving his hand to get a bunch of furniture and loose items out of the way. “If it’s as important as you say, to not let them have you, you need to get out of Haven. Take Jongho and Wooyoung with you if you can—”

Not Jongho. But too complicated to explain right now. “He’s still tied to the land, how the hell am I supposed to—”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “I can’t help you. Your priority is yourself, okay? Get far from here.” 

“But I—”

_ “ _ _ Go, _ _ ” _ Hongjoong hisses, pushing out with his palm, and San’s met with resistance and goes flying—

flying—

back—

He sits up with a gasp, wrenching air back into his lungs so quickly he coughs. 

Yeosang jerks back from where he’d been hovering over him. “What the hell was that?” He demands. “You weren’t  _ breathing,  _ I thought you—”

“My dad’s in town,” San says, standing. Wooyoung watches him warily. “If we’re breaking the bind, we’re breaking it  _ now.”  _

“That’s not a—”

“We need to try,” Wooyoung says, surprisingly on San’s side for this one. 

Yeosang looks between them and sighs. “Fuck, fine. Fine! If we all die, neither of you can blame me!”

“We’re not gonna die,” San says with absolute conviction.

It takes a moment, but they get set up. Wooyoung and Yeosang understand rituals much better than San, so they do that, while San clears up all evidence of their presence and thinks, as hard as he can, about how to break the bind. 

_ “How would you remove a sacrifice powered binding ritual?” _

_ “My magic’s weird. I don’t think anyone would do things how I would.” _

_ “Humor me.” _

_ “... I would shift it.” _

His memories are getting muddled. That never happened. He wouldn’t ask Han about magic like that because Yeosang warned him, probably rightly, that Han would kill him if he did. But he  _ remembers it. _

Byeol meows at him, distressed at his distress. 

“Sorry,” he tells her, and gathers her in his arms. “We’re gonna go on an adventure, okay?”

“Meow.”

_ “You could try to slip out. Like, find a loophole, dodge the magic tie, do a countermeasure. But that’s time consuming and, usually, so utterly specific that it’s not worth it. You have to wait for certain times of the year, you need season-specific fruits, your diet has to change for months. It could take decades to break a single ritual.” _

He follows Yeosang’s advice and throws his extra belongings—anything he can’t carry—into the water. The mer will take care of it, Yeosang promised. San won’t ever see any of it again, but neither will his family. 

The rest goes into his backpack, and he deposits Byeol in there as well. She cries a bit—she doesn’t like it in there any more than San likes putting her in there—but settles down. 

By the time he gets back, Wooyoung and Yeosang are done setting up, and he has an idea. It’s maybe not the most pleasant of ideas, but… they’re at the end of the rope, here. 

“Neither of us can do it,” Yeosang says, displeasure pinching his face. “It has to be you.”

“There’s a spell wrapped in the bind,” Wooyoung says. “It’s a sun spell. We’re not vampires, we don’t burn in the sun, but it’s not good for us. At all. It can be fatal, if it’s strong enough.” They exchange glances. “Pretty sure that one’s strong enough.”

“We have to just break it,” Yeosang says. 

_ “But then again, you could also try to break it. Snap the bond in two. D’you know how when you fire a gun it kicks back? Recoil? Imagine that, but magnified. Snapping something like a sacrifice powered ritual is never a good idea unless you have something to absorb the blast. But consider—shifting the object anchor.” _

“No,” San says. “The backlash—”

“We don’t have  _ time _ to think about the backlash,” Wooyoung snaps. “None of us have an alternative and if your father is  _ here—” _

_ “Focus the magic in one spot rather than an area.” _

“I have something,” San says. 

_ “Concentrate the bind into one place—some place where you can conceivably leave one instance of the object on the grounds, and carry a separate instance around with you. Not a copy—that won’t work. But the same object. There needs to be a tie.” _

“We have to shift it.”

They stare at him, like he’s gone crazy. 

“That—I mean.” Wooyoung looks at Yeosang, then back to San. “It… might work.”

Wooyoung explains as succinctly as he can how to do a ritual like this, and San nods along numbly. He’s pretty sure he can do it. Maybe. 

“It won’t go into effect until Yeosang tries to leave,” Wooyoung finishes. “You’re giving it the tools it needs to allow him to go, but it won’t make an attempt at it until it has to.”

Object in motion stays in motion, blah blah. San nods. 

It’s weird. The ritual itself is easy, San says the words—promises them both that he does have something to latch Yeosang onto—and the candle in the middle burns too fast, signifying, according to Wooyoung, that the ritual set all the pieces in place. The hard part comes with the ritual actually locking down.

But then they hear a door open. 

They clean up what they can, as quickly as possible. Leave no trace. Wooyoung takes both their hands and whispers something, too quiet for San to hear. Yeosang joins, after a moment, and Wooyoung’s hand tightens on San’s.  _ “Kang Yeosang,” _ Wooyoung says, and it sounds funny, like he’s underwater.  _ “Jung Wooyoung. Choi San.” _

Names are an interesting thing. They have power, over a person, and that power must be wielded well. It’s not just knowing the name—it’s the ability to say it, it’s  _ knowing _ that person as a being. Humans are uncomplicated. If San were like most other humans, Wooyoung would have power over his name. 

If San were like most other humans, the magic would have worked. 

As it is, his ears ring. Something shakes, but he can’t tell if it’s him or Wooyoung or the ground—he blinks his watering eyes shut against dirt and grit. Wooyoung swears and someone screams—it takes him a moment to realize it’s him. And then—

Bright light. So, so bright. And it’s like he’s been sucker punched, flying like a ragdoll, clutching tight to Wooyoung’s hand because it’s the only thing he  _ can _ do. He lands in grass with an  _ oof, _ barely able to see around the white that’s creeping over him, his vision unfocused and his mind screaming at him to sleep. 

“Shit,” Wooyoung grunts from somewhere to his left. “SHIT! YEOSANG?”

No response. 

“Tha’s not good,” San mumbles, blinking blearily. 

The last thing he sees before he succumbs to the light is the curious face of a girl, reaching out to touch his cheek. 

_ “One more time. It can’t end like this.” Jongho is dragging him, clutching his neck, hugging him close. “San, wake up, come on.” _

The memory hurts his head to think about. But it’s not right, is it? It can’t be a memory.

Jongho’s dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho boy did i touch up this and post instead of doing my AI hw? yeah  
> am i still a little unhappy with it? yeah  
> but im a perfectionist and ive learned to just get things out instead of editing and editing and editing otherwise it'll stay in my drafts forever
> 
> i do hhave to go do that now so imma hit post. thanks for reading uwu <3


	5. yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which yeosang and jongho go on an adventure and avoid important conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah lets uh just pretend tpe->bos is a legitimate flight that takes 15 hours. also i dont know yangyang (wayv/nct) or tzuyu (twice) well enough to write them accurately sorry oop
> 
> italics in quotes for languages that arent korean, unless indicated that they’re speaking some specific language.
> 
> thoughts are both normal text and italics, depending on who’s in control of the body lol
> 
> this was originally meant to be the beginning of a part 2, so the pov change is probably abrupt... oops

Yeosang groans. 

He’s lying on something soft, which is nice, but also concerning because the last thing he remembers is Wooyoung invoking his name—it’s still ringing in his ears, _Kang Yeosang—_ and then _pain._ It ran up his side and into his head and chest like thorns growing through his veins. The bind is still there, Yeosang can tell, but he’s sure the magical backlash of shifting it threw San and possibly Wooyoung far from him.

So where is he?

_Motel._

Huh?

_I moved you to a motel._

Yeosang sits up abruptly. “What the hell?”

_Hi, Sangie._

Ok, so Yeosang’s going insane, good to know. 

_It’s me, dumbass. You saw my grave. You know I can’t have passed._

Jongho.

_Yeah._

“I’ve missed your voice,” Yeosang says aloud. 

_You’ve probably missed a lot of things._

He has.

He opens his eyes, reassured of his safety by Jongho’s presence. If there was a serious threat, Jongho would’ve been up in arms, not having a lighthearted conversation. And Jongho being here… he wouldn’t say he’s surprised, but he wouldn’t say he’s not. He’s happy, for sure, to hear a familiar voice. 

They are, in fact, in a motel. It’s gaudy and the walls are lime green, but it’s temporarily safe. San and Wooyoung are nowhere to be seen.

_You were right about the backlash. They didn’t land with us._

Now that Yeosang knows Jongho’s here, he has some guesses about what San attached him to. 

The thing about Jongho’s grave is that it was very clearly—not cursed, but as good as. With a family like the Choi’s, and enough ill intention (which Jongho’s father probably stirred at the funeral), the grave is very much unlucky. The un-luck, of course, transfers to the person buried there. 

And with the un-luck comes repercussions on Jongho’s spirit. Usually. And the grave itself is drenched in badness, stinking magic that rots everything it touches. But Jongho’s grave’s rotten magic isn’t expanding. Jongho’s grave is surrounded by a protective ring.

San must’ve known that Jongho was still lingering in the moral realm. So Yeosang’s tied to Jongho’s spirit, and Jongho’s spirit is tied to Jongho’s grave, which is _technically_ part of the Choi family land. That’s why Yeosang was able to leave, on the condition that Jongho’s spirit follow. That’s still within the bounds of the bind.

 _Follow,_ Jongho says scornfully. _I’m in your_ head.

Yeah. It’s kind of unfortunate. The curse must’ve attempted to draw them as close as possible, so now Jongho’s not just a ghost _—_ he’s inside Yeosang’s body. 

_Not for the first time._

Jongho’s definitely laughing. “You’re not funny.”

_I’m hilarious._

Yeosang rolls his eyes. Fucking typical. He can’t even muster the energy to be mad that Jongho didn’t tell him he’s still around, much less exasperation. “Where are we?”

_From what I can tell? Taiwan._

That presents a whole other set of challenges that Yeosang wishes he didn’t have to consider. He doesn’t have a passport, he doesn’t have a phone or money, and his Chinese is fucking dismal. Sure, he could swim back to Korea, but he should really find San and Wooyoung first, and if Dahye and Kyuwon hook someone else up to those machines they’ll be able to track him the moment he steps foot on Korean soil. 

_...I might still have money in my bank account._

Convenient.

_It’s not like anyone ever bothered to get my will read. And it’s one of those that doesn’t close even with inactivity. My stock broker should have kept investing where he saw fit even past my death, up until the eventual execution of my non-existent will._

Fair. Stock broker, wow. Fancy.

_Not really._

Still doesn’t solve his passport issue. And his locating San and Wooyoung issue. There’s not much he can do to find them, not without help.

_Hyunjin’s in Taipei._

Yeosang halts his fiddling with the motel phone and frowns at the wall, for lack of a person to frown at. “Again, convenient.”

 _I mean, I have no idea_ where _in Taipei he is, and honestly he might’ve moved in the past twenty years. I didn’t see him in Haven when I was tagging along on San’s adventures, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t in Japan, or something. It’s not like I can go out looking while I’m stuck inside you._

“I’ll look around the ley lines. Hopefully we’ll find a fae hot spot and we can ask around.”

_It’s not like I have anywhere to be._

Fae don’t always follow ley lines. There’s an intrinsic tie, sure, but they aren’t required to be near them. Haven is as far from a ley line as you can get in Korea, and Hongjoong and the rest of the fae population have managed there just fine. However, if you find an intersection, you’re almost guaranteed some kind of fae gathering _—_ sort of in the frame of a rectangle’s not a square but a square’s a rectangle. Yeosang remembers quite a few schools, actually, at the cross between lines, back when he was still walking around.

_It’s mostly shops, now._

Hm. 

* * *

Taipei is not how Yeosang remembers it. Granted, he’s only been once, because he and Wooyoung and Yeonjun and Changbin had wondered if they could make the swim to Taiwan, and even though they were kind of worried about it, they made it there and back pretty safely. They’d almost been hit by a cruise ship, but that’s a whole other matter entirely. 

There’s so many more _lights,_ now. 

He’s grateful he’s still wearing San’s clothes, because he blends in much better than he expected. 

_So do you have a plan? Or are you just going to wander around until you feel something._

I just said I’ve been to Taipei. The ley lines haven’t moved _that_ much. Remember when I disappeared for like three days?

_I thought you were like molting or something. Do fish molt?_

This really is going to be hell, isn’t it. 

_Heyyy._

And don’t think you’re getting away free. We’re going to have to talk about a lot of things, after we figure out what the hell to do about this situation.

Jongho doesn’t deign that with an answer. 

The night market should open in less than an hour. He stops about a street away, and can already see the black pepper bun stall setting up. Granted, a lot of the stalls won’t open until a little further along into the night but the one he’s looking for should be there at 5 pm on the dot. 

_Wait, is this...? Raohe? You’re looking for Changbin’s friend?_

They know each other. I’m not sure friend is the right word.

_Well they’re friendly, aren’t they?_

Sure.

_She’s not really fae, though._

Meh.

_Are you sure it’s safe?_

Do we really have any other option?

_…_

Thought so.

Yeosang busies himself with looking through some tourist-y trinkets at the open front of a store. He really doesn’t have a plan. He’s thought as far as Changbin’s friend knowing where Hyunjin is vs not knowing, and where he’ll go from there, but other than that… he can wing it. 

Jongho makes a displeased noise, but Yeosang ignores him. 

“Two of these are how much?” Yeosang asks the shopkeeper in very stilted Mandarin. 

She kindly types it out in a calculator and shows him, instead of trying to communicate numbers. Which is nice of her. Yeosang always gets seven and nine confused, for some reason that escapes him. 

He pays with money he swipes off an unsuspecting actual tourist, and tucks the pineapple cakes he bought under his arm. Unfortunately getting access to Jongho’s bank account will be a whole process, so he’ll have to resort to trickery until he can get that done. “Thank you,” he says, bowing out. “Have a good day.”

The market has grown a little, and he weaves his way through the crowd, careful to keep his magic wound tight around him to ward off any sticky fingers. It’s strange, how free it feels, not running the water and power for an entire house. Both he and San had kept usage to a minimum, going so far as to sit in the dark, sometimes, but still. It was heavy and brittle under constant use. Here, letting it out to play but not to grind, it’s as wispy as fresh cotton candy, strong as a spiderweb. 

I’ve missed people.

_Makes one of us._

Don’t be so grumpy. 

_Ugh._

He stops to buy watermelon juice from one of the stalls with the change he’d had from the pineapple cakes. Her stall should be just around the corner _—_ there. He spots the large sticky rice sign and presses to the other side of the flow of people to duck into the open area between stalls. There’s a girl scooping rice into bowls, smiling as she passes them to her customers.

“Chou Tzuyu?”

Tzuyu looks up. “ _Do I…?_ Oh! Hi! Changbin’s friend, right? Yeosang?” She switches to Korean when she recognizes him, thankfully. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” Yeosang steps further into the nook next to her stall when she gestures for him to, out of the flow of the people. It doesn’t seem like Changbin told her Yeosang “died”, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t really feel like explaining the whole thing. 

“How is he? I haven’t heard from him in… wow, a while.”

Yeosang grimaces. Yeah, they hadn’t left Haven in the best of hands, so he doubts that he’s doing well right now. “Uh, he’s okay. Could be better.”

Tzuyu hums knowingly. “Hunters?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Jongho mumbles something in the back of Yeosang’s head, and he resists the urge to smack himself in the forehead. Making Tzuyu think he’s insane isn’t going to get him anywhere. “Here, um.” He places the watermelon juice on a clean bit of her work area. 

She glances at it, then up at him, amused. “I’m not fae. You don’t need to buy my help with food.”

“Still.” He shrugs. “Didn’t feel right coming here empty handed.”

She takes the juice, drinking half of it in one go. “You should get some for yourself. It’s heavenly, in this heat, and I don’t say that word lightly.”

“I’ll consider it,” Yeosang says. 

“So. What do you need?”

“I’m looking for Hwang Hyunjin.”

She actually pauses mid-sip before swallowing slowly. “Hyunjin? Why?”

How to explain the situation… “I was slingshotted from Korea to here with magic, and got separated from my friends, who were also thrown somewhere. I need to track them down. Hyunjin’s the only fae I know outside Korea, and since I don’t know the scope of the search, fae are my best bet.”

“Ah.” She nods, like _yeah, that’ll do it._ Yeosang would like to think it wouldn’t be this easy to convince her to give up Hyunjin’s location if she didn’t already know him in passing. “He spends most of his time in Yangmingshan. I think he’s researching something related to Japan? I’m not entirely sure. You can probably find him there anytime while the sun’s up.”

“Anywhere in particular in the park? It’s a big park.”

“Qixing, I think. He’s looking at volcanos.” 

_He’s very much a water person. Why is he looking at fire things?_

You can’t just sort people into categories like we’re in Avatar.

_Okay but are you denying that you’re more water inclined than fire?_

...No. 

_Ha._

That means nothing.

He thanks Tzuyu for her help and slips back into the crowd. Even having a place to start, the park is a big place. He’s not sure he’ll be able to find Hyunjin in a day. Especially not if Hyunjin’s actively keeping himself hidden. 

_So you find Hyunjin, and ask him for help, and he gives it to you. Then what?_

Yeosang spots a sign for a cheap hotel, counts his remaining coins, and decides that he can afford to stay the night and still have breakfast in the morning. No, food isn’t entirely necessary for him _—_ he spent fifty years without, after all _—_ but it certainly won’t hurt, and it’ll keep his energy up. He’s not going to visit a faerie while dwindling down to his power reserves. That’s just stupid. 

Then what? Then I tell him what’s happening in Haven. Hopefully he’ll go back and help out _—_ he won’t just abandon Changbin and the others. And before he does that, hopefully he’ll agree to help me.

_It’s a long shot._

It is. But Hyunjin cares about his friends a lot. So Yeosang has hope. 

* * *

(Jongho befriended Han with startling ease. Yeosang about had a heart attack when he saw them together, whispering and giggling in a booth at Cap’s. 

“Chill,” Changbin said, pulling Yeosang back from storming over and curling over Jongho like a protective shield. “Han won’t hurt him.”

“You don’t know _—_ ”

“Han has a thing about kids,” Changbin said. “And Jongho may be an adult in human or siren terms, but he’s a kid to him.”

And Yeosang watched, as Han smiled at Jongho, full force, and Jongho smiled back.)

* * *

They take the MRT to the edge of Taipei, and the bus from there to Beitou. It takes an extra hour compared to taking a car, but Yeosang would feel worse siren song-ing a cab driver into going all the way to Beitou than he does siren song-ing the MRT ticket booth guy into giving him a card with enough for a round trip. 

The scenery’s nice, anyway. It’s… yeah. As they leave the city the land gets hilly and green and they pass through a few little pockets of buildings where people are just going about their day. Yeosang finds himself pressing his hand up on the window, glass cold on his palm, as if he could reach out and touch the mundane. Life as a human, working a job, going home to a family. 

A couple dressed in matching outfits runs across the street in front of the bus, laughing, holding hands. The bus screeches to a halt, jolting Yeosang a bit, but the couple pays no heed, really, waving apologetically at the driver. The driver sighs, like he’s thinking, _ah young people…_

And Yeosang’s stomach clenches, and he _wants_ , viscerally. 

But that’s a problem, isn’t it. 

_Yeah, buddy._

Don’t call me buddy.

_Pal._

Jongho…

_Okay. Yeah. But you know… you were right. We need to talk._

Yeosang turns back to the window, traces little triangles into the fog his breath makes, until Jongho makes a noise that might be a sigh, and he looks out at the triangles. They align with the mountains in the distance.

We have two hours until we reach Beitou. I guess we can… hash a bit of this out.

 _A bit…_

Yeah, a bit.

_You know what rescue romance is, right?_

Yeosang’s hand tightens around the seat of his chair, enough that he’s sure his knuckles have turned white. Yeah, he knows what that is. 

_So you… you know it’s unhealthy._

I do.

_And?_

And nothing.

 _And, you shouldn’t fall into that. You haven’t interacted with another human in_ years _. Tzuyu and Wooyoung were the first_ actual people _you’ve spoken to outside San since my f—since my unfortunate relations fortunately died, and even that was brief, on both counts._

I’m talking to you.

_I’m in your head. That doesn’t really count._

Yeosang doesn’t say anything for a moment, looks out at the fields and thinks about how it would be to run among them.

_Yeosang._

_Fuck,_ can he not look at the fields? Is it bothering Jongho? Is it? _Is it?_ He hasn’t seen this much green since _—_ he can’t even remember. It’s beautiful and open and he wants to touch so badly, but… 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the old woman sitting next to him touches his shoulder worriedly. She says something in Mandarin, too fast for him to understand, and he shakes his head. “ _I_ _don’t speak Chinese, I’m Korean,_ ” he says, because that’s one of the first things he learned in the language. Her forehead crinkles, and then she nods, pats his cheek, and digs into her bag to hand him a little carved wooden carp keychain. He looks down at it, then at her, and the expression on his face is apparently funny enough that she laughs. _Fish,_ she tells him, like he can’t tell. " _Fish,"_ he repeats back at her, still befuddled. She pats his cheek again, and hands him a small wrapped candy. It seems to be nougat. 

The bus stops, and she stands. “Don’t worry too much,” she says. He startles, because he hadn’t thought she could speak Korean…? But she disembarks before he can ask. 

I’m not in love with San. I’m barely in like with him.

_But you could be._

Yeosang closes his eyes. The hills continue to pass, the fields and trees so green they’re starting to hurt his head. His heart aches.

Yeah, he thinks. 

I could be.

* * *

(Hyunjin followed, after that. 

Han introduced them, because he thought they’d get along well. Jongho… well he got through the typical intro without any major mishaps… and like that, they were friends. Hyunjin looked at him sadly, sometimes, like he had pity for him. But Yeosang never found the courage to ask why.)

* * *

The bus peels off, leaving Yeosang coughing up dirt. The other people give him _looks_ , and he grimaces. 

There’s another bus he needs to take, up to the part of the mountain he wants to visit, and it arrives soon enough, clanking along slowly. 

Oh, how he wishes he’d taken learning teleportation seriously. Wooyoung can do it. The one thing Wooyoung took more seriously than he did.

 _Isn’t that insanely difficult?_ Jongho asks. They’d used a ritual to send them away from Haven, after all, and that still went… badly. 

Yeah. Still.

That bus drops him off at a little rest stop. He’s the only one who gets off there, so he hesitates, but he doubts Hyunjin’s in a tourist-heavy area so it’s probably right. 

He’d picked up a map on the last bus, from the back of the driver’s seat. He thinks he knows where he is, but he’s not sure. 

_“Wei!”_

He startles, whirling around. There’s a boy _—_ maybe fifteen? He’s bad at human ages _—_ waving at him from the door of the rest stop. He babbles something that Yeosang only barely catches _—_ something about tea.

 _“I don’t speak Chinese,”_ he says. 

The boy frowns at him. Then turns back to yell something into the hut. A woman emerges, smiling softly at the boy, but when she sees Yeosang, she pauses. She says something in Japanese but Yeosang shakes his head. “Korean?” She asks.

“Yeah.” 

She smiles at him. It’s not a nice smile, not a human smile, but it’s somewhat friendly nonetheless. “Come in for some tea. On the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t _—_ ”

“I haven’t seen a merman in a long time,” she says. Hm. She’d gotten his species wrong. 

It’s an easy mistake, sure. Merpeople are the stereotypical generic fish tailed half-human beings, and tend to be gentle and keep to themselves. Sirens are much more varied on the fish side, and usually are predators or aggressive fish. They also have siren song. Both species smell like fish, and their magic gives off the salty brine taste of the ocean, but usually non-humans can tell the difference.

She looks out at the ocean, which they can see out in the distance over the cliff that the road sits on. “I used to visit all the time, but when the humans built their roads and cities, I couldn’t pass. I miss them.” She holds the door open wide. The inside isn’t quite dark, but it yawns, like the door is a mouth asking to swallow him whole. “Come in for some tea?”

_Don’t._

What is she?

_Warped spirit. Seventh class demon, so she’s new to it. The kid’s an imp._

He doesn’t question how Jongho knows _—_ he’d always been more observant than him, able to unnervingly guess what a non-human was within five seconds of spotting them. Hunter training, maybe. 

“I’m okay,” Yeosang says. “Really.” She regards him, and he lets himself slide partway out of his glamor. Just his upper half. “Thank you for the offer.” It lisps a little, coming out through the rows and rows of teeth. He puts a bit of emphasis on his words, enough to hint at a song but not enough to actually put her in a trance. “Go back inside.”

She hisses, flinching back. “Siren.”

“Inside,” he repeats.

She slams the door.

 _I wonder how many skulls you’d find in_ her _backyard,_ Jongho mutters, and with that Yeosang heads off. Many unsuspecting tourists, he’s sure.

Jongho’s right, Hyunjin _is_ water inclined, and while the area is more volcanic than not there is one lake. It’s small, but not small enough that Hyunjin might not be interested, so Yeosang figures there’s as good a place to start as any and heads off in that direction. 

It’s pretty. The water. 

He stands there for maybe too long, warring with himself about whether to go for a dip (he really, _really_ wants to) or keep looking, when bubbles rise from the middle of the lake.

_You could’ve gone under to check, you know? You can, like, swim._

Shut _up._

As they get closer to shore the bubbles give way to blond hair _—_ he’s near where Yeosang is standing, but Yeosang isn’t in Hyunjin’s line of sight. And it is Hyunjin, definitely. 

He shakes his head a little once he’s about halfway out, does the dramatic hair flip that girls do for aesthetic pictures at beaches, and Yeosang swears he’s seeing literal sparkles in the air around him. Hyunjin brushes errant strands back and now he’s fully emerged from the water and _—_ yup, he’s naked. 

_WHY are you falling for this?_

“Huh?”

Except he says it aloud and Hyunjin whips around and meets his eyes and they’re staring at each other, equally startled, for a solid five seconds before Hyunjin yelps and dives for his clothes. 

“Sorry!” Yeosang says, shielding his eyes now. 

“Look _away!”_

“I am!”

Shuffling, cursing. It sounds like he falls into the grass at one point. Yeosang _does not_ look because he’s pretty sure Hyunjin will kill him if he does. Not that he’d want to look. 

_How did you forget about that?_ Jongho’s definitely laughing. Yeosang scowls at the ground. 

Fuck you.

Jongho just keeps laughing. Brat. 

Hyunjin’s always been like that _—_ you have to be constantly on guard around him or you might accidentally preposition him. Jongho always insisted that it’s artificial, that he drops it when he’s around friends _—_ and Yeosang didn’t spend as much time around him as Jongho, so maybe he’s right.

 _Of course I’m right._

Most people immediately fall into heart eyes when they first meet him. Jongho told him once that the only person that _didn’t_ do that was Han, whose first response to catching sight of Hyunjin was to try and fight him. Hyunjin was, reportedly, fucking delighted. 

“You’re alive,” Hyunjin says, and Yeosang squints over in the direction of his voice before lowering his hand. He’s fully clothed, now. 

“Yeah,” Yeosang says. “Barely.”

Hyunjin studies him, leans forward a little. “Hm. Jongho’s with you.”

_Yeah I am._

“He says hi.”

“Hi, Jjongie,” Hyunjin says, smiling with all of his teeth. He glances at the pineapple cakes Yeosang offers. “How’s he doing?” And there’s that sad look again. 

_Peachy._

Yeosang relays this. 

“I can imagine,” Hyunjin says. Jongho stays quiet. “Look, I don’t need those. I know there’s supposed to be an equal exchange, but I’m… I’m happy to see Jjongie again.”

“I didn’t use my own money,” Yeosang says drily. “Just take them.”

Hyunjin does, but he unwraps one immediately and sets it at Yeosang’s mouth. “Technically not fae food,” he says with a wink. 

_What is he..._

Yeosang sighs, but lets Hyunjin feed him the cake. And for a second _—_ for one slow, slow second, Yeosang looks at him and thinks, he’s beautiful, but then. 

Yeosang pulls back. 

Hyunjin watches him, carefully lowering the wrapper. 

_It’s not me,_ Jongho says quietly. _Tell him it’s not me._

What?

 _Just._ Jongho sounds exhausted. _Do it. Please._

“Jongho wants me to say it’s not him,” Yeosang says. “Whatever that means…?”

Hyunjin sighs. “Of course it isn’t.” He forces a smile. “So what can I do for you two?”

“Have you checked in on Haven lately?” Yeosang asks. He'll pester Jongho about it later. 

_No you won't._

“No,” Hyunjin says. He gestures for Yeosang to walk with him. “I’ve been absorbed in what I’m doing here. I was gonna go back next month.”

“Well,” Yeosang says. “You might want to go back now.”

“Something wrong?”

“The family’s back. I don’t know if Han can keep holding them off.”

“Han’s a big boy,” Hyunjin says. “He can manage.”

“I don’t know,” Yeosang says, quiet. “It’s different this time. There’s something weird going on.”

“Weirder than you coming back to life?”

“Well, I never really died, so.”

They stop at a road. Hyunjin mutters something, and they teleport further along said road. There’s a bus stop within eyesight, from there. “I’ll look into it,” he says. “If there is something weird, I’ll let you know. For now I need to get back to work, and I can’t do that if you’re here offsetting my readings.”

Okay, fine. If that’s the best Hyunjin can do then it’s fine. “Can you track someone for me, before I go?”

Hyunjin holds out a hand wordlessly, and Yeosang takes it. _Choi San_ , he thinks, focused wildly on his magical signature. 

Hyunjin lets go after a few moments. “You and your rebel hunter boys, huh?” And he smiles again, smug and _knowing._

_Oh my god._

Yeosang splutters. “Hey—!”

“He’s in America.” Hyunjin giggles at the look on his face. “Yeah. Whatever you guys did had a lot of magical backlash. Wooyoung’s with him, but they do seem to be having a bit of trouble.” He tilts his head. “I would say… _New Hampshire_? It’s a little town. _Molton_ , I think.”

“Huh?” Yeosang says blankly. 

“It’s English. Have fun! I’ll see you around, Kang Yeosang. I’m glad you’re not dead.” And with that, he vanishes.

That was productive.

_Now you know where to go!_

I’m not swimming across the Pacific.

_Who said anything about swimming? Take a plane._

Just take??? A plane???

_Commercial flights are much more common now._

How fucking common can they be?

* * *

Very common, apparently.

“I don’t trust it,” Yeosang says, staring at the giant tin cans that are supposed to _fly._

_You could take a boat, I guess. It’ll just take more time._

Yeosang sighs. “Okay. Fine.”

_We need to get you a passport, though. You can’t use siren song on a machine. And American immigration sucks ass, you’d be better off having it as a backup anyway._

Huh?

_It doesn’t matter. I know someone who can help. Go to Da’an Station and I’ll direct you from there._

The next train ride is quiet, with even Jongho shutting up for once.

_Hey!_

Nevermind. But still. Yeosang closes his eyes for as long as he dares, wishing that he could rest. Really rest. But no. San freed him from the chains only for there to be more prisons waiting. Every moment he’s spent free of the cellar has been in fear _—_ fear of the family finding him, fear of being stuck in that house forever, fear of San deciding it’s a lost cause and leaving him to rot alone. 

And now, he’s finally free of all that, and he still lives in fear. He still doesn’t have a place to sleep to call his own. (Not that he has since he was living with Wooyoung in their little shack by the water.) He’s worried about Haven and his friends—he’s worried about what the family is planning.

Yeosang follows Jongho’s directions and ends up in a thin alley, lit by string lights and filled with greenery _—_ there’s tall bushes on the ground and vines hanging from balconies. 

_The cafe,_ Jongho says, and Yeosang turns in to the cafe with a bright neon sign spelling out “NEO” in Latin letters. 

“ _Hi!_ ” 

Yeosang flinches, surprised by the enthusiasm. “ _Hi,_ ” he says. 

The guy behind the counter grins at him. The cafe is almost full, many people sitting at tables with laptops working. The noise level is low, with only a few people murmuring quietly to each other, and soft kpop playing from the speakers. Cats wander the floor, some taking naps on shelves clearly intended for cat antics. There’s a dog, too, a beagle in the corner, gaze locked on one cat that keeps getting distracted by a feather on a string. 

_Tell him I told you to come here if you ever needed paperwork. Don’t tell him what you are._

Did you bring me to a _hunter_?

_Yangyang’s chill._

If I get out of this alive I’m gonna kill you. Wait how do you know a hunter that young?

_He’s not quite a hunter._

Can I speak Korean?

_Should be fine._

“Hi,” Yeosang says, refocusing on Yangyang. “Choi Jongho told me to come here if I needed… uh.” He glances behind him, but everyone’s still absorbed in their work. “Paperwork.”

“Oh, Jongho! How’s he doing?” He seems expectant, like Yeosang should actually know.

_You can be honest, I visited him like two months ago._

He’s a medium?

_Kind of._

“He’s fine,” Yeosang says, on reflex. “Well, no. He’s a little stuck right now. I’m working on it.”

_No you’re not._

I’ll get to it eventually. 

“Ah, that sucks,” Yangyang says. “Come back here, I’ll help you out.” He holds open the half door for Yeosang to come behind the counter, and leads him through a curtain to the kitchen. “What specifically do you need?” He flicks a large canvas off the table it’s covering, revealing a giant machine that Yeosang doesn’t even know how to start describing. “I can do residence papers, driver’s license, visa, passports. But only passports for Taiwan, United States, Canada, UK, and Germany.”

What does he charge for these?

_Ah. Well._

…?

_He sort of owes me. Permanently. Since I sent you he’ll do it for free._

What the hell did you do for him?

_...Unimportant._

“United States would be good,” Yeosang says, assuming it’ll be easier to get into the country with a passport for said country. He might have trouble getting back to Korea, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. 

“You got it,” Yangyang says. “Give me, like, a minute. And stand there?” Yeosang stands on the tape. “Smile! No teeth!” Yeosang smiles. A flash of light, and Yeosang’s blinking stars from his eyes. “Okay, good enough. You can sit here.” Yangyang pats a stool, and Yeosang sits. Then he’s poking at the machine, making it do things and make sounds that sound frankly concerning. “Name?”

“Kang Yeosang.”

“Yeosang Kang, okay. Where are you going?”

_Boston._

“Boston.”

“Birthday?”

He gives it.

A cat wanders in halfway through, the same cat that the dog was watching. It’s a Siamese so Yeosang’s reminded of Byeol and he can’t help but worry. 

“That’s Louis,” Yangyang says, distracted. “Sorry if you don’t like cats. I can’t really control any of them.”

“It’s fine.”

Louis winds around his ankles and then hops up to watch Yangyang work. Yangyang turns around soon after, blue passport in hand. “Okay! Yeosang Kang, born June 15, 1999, passport issued November 1st, 2017 in Boston, MA, citizen of the United States of America! When it’s scanned, it’ll take a moment and they might have to scan it again for the false entry to pop up. Computers, y’know.” He presents it to Yeosang with a flourish. “Free of charge, because you know Jongho.” He shoves something warm into Yeosang’s hands. “Take a _niurou jian bing._ And good luck with whatever you’re doing!”

And then he’s being pushed out the door, and the cafe flickers, and Yeosang blinks, wondering if he’s seeing things, because it turns into a furniture store right in front of his eyes. 

What…?

 _Protective glamor,_ Jongho says. _Don’t worry about it. Let’s go buy a plane ticket._

Yeosang decides to take his advice and put it out of his mind.

* * *

Buying a plane ticket is easy. Yeosang has to use siren song because he’d feel bad stealing that much money off someone, and when the woman at the ticket counter scans his shiny new passport he does have a few moments of anxiety waiting for it to register, but other than that it goes smoothly. Jongho also insists that they buy a bag because it’d look sketchy to travel to another country without at least a backpack, so Yeosang does that, and stuffs it with a few souvenir shirts and the beef pancake roll Yangyang gave him. 

The big scanners are so weird and slightly intimidating, but Jongho tells Yeosang what to do because he’s watched San do it before. They make it through security just fine. 

_Look at that chart._

There’s a giant screen with a bunch of ever-changing listings. Yeosang squints at it, still a little unnerved by technology, and Jongho mumbles something in the back of his mind but Yeosang’s too distracted to listen. 

_“Gate B17. Boarding flight 310 to Boston, USA.”_

_That’s us._

Yeosang looks up from the chart, ready to head to the gate, but then.

He stops.

Directly in front of him, standing out in the crowd, is a man.

Of course, it’s a crowd. It makes sense there would be people. But this man… 

_Why did you stop?_

This isn’t good. The man is looking directly at him. The man is walking forward, looking directly at him, and Yeosang’s instincts are _screaming_ at him to run. 

So he does.

_What did you see?_

Yeosang twists, desperately trying to get away. “Nothing good.”

The man stays in pursuit, even after Yeosang ducks through stores and into clumps of people. Like he’s tracking him.

He’s tracking him.

Shit.

_My magic gives a different reading, let me take control._

Yeosang turns back. The man is still there, standing out starkly as he bowls people over with intent. 

_Yeosang!_

Okay. Okay, yeah, take over, _take over!_

He supposes it’s a form of active vs passive possession. He knew Jongho could take over, because he’d said he took Yeosang to the motel, but he seems to be the most polite ghost ever, waiting for Yeosang’s permission.

He couldn’t describe it if he tried, the feeling of handing Jongho control. It’s just one second he’s in his body and the next he's viewing everything from a step back. Tunnel vision, sort of. And Jongho stumbles, because he wasn’t prepared to take control of Yeosang’s legs. 

“You’re so small,” he grunts, ducking behind a shelf.

_I’m not small._

“You are.”

He stops, hidden from the man’s view. The shopkeeper looks at him, disinterested, but must decide he isn’t worth the fuss because she just continues what she was doing. 

They wait, with bated breath, as the man stops in front of the stall. It’s a gamble. If he’s only tracking Yeosang’s magic, he won’t notice them, and they’ll be able to slip away. If he’s tracking Yeosang himself, they’re fucked. 

“ _Buying something?_ ” The woman asks.

The man snorts. “ _No._ ” And he hesitates, one more moment… 

And then he leaves.

“Fuck,” Jongho breathes, dropping his head back on the wall. “ _Thank you,_ ” he says to the woman. He picks up a packet of something—chocolate, Yeosang thinks—and digs out the coins to pay. Yeosang assumes he feels obligated to give her business after using her store to hide. He doesn’t blame him.

She nods.

Jongho keeps control—they agree without speaking that Yeosang resuming control would just reattract the man’s attention. They have to sprint to the gate to make it in time, but they do make it. They both hold their breath when Jongho hands over the passport, but they get through without issue.

Yeosang doesn’t dare relax until the plane’s in the air. He keeps an eye on the door the entire time they wait, dreading seeing the man again, but he never arrives.

The door closes, and they start moving, and then, with a lot of rattling, they’re in the air. 

And finally, finally, Jongho hands the reins back to Yeosang, and Yeosang rolls his shoulders, cracking joints and releasing tension muscle by muscle. 

_“Flight phobia?”_

He glances next to him. The speaker’s a woman, blinking tiredly at him. She’s probably in her late 20's. Jongho, more versed in English than Yeosang is, quietly translates for him. _“Something like that.”_

_“Well, you certainly chose the wrong flight.”_

He laughs. _“Yeah. You’re telling me.”_

Fifteen hours.

He settles into his seat, unnervingly able to pretend they aren’t thousands of feet in the air already. There’s barely any turbulence.

_Modern magic._

Yeah. Sure. Modern magic. 

Now. 

Who the fuck was that man? And why was he after them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i proofread this a little tipsy im so sorry lmao
> 
> i visited taiwan two years ago for two weeks and i still miss it. ugh. if only travel was viable... 
> 
> anyway so the tunnel vision thing--imagine disassociation. or maybe being slightly drunk


	6. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san encounters an old... friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italics in quotes for languages that arent korean, unless indicated that they’re speaking some specific language. its kinda annoying so sorry abt that… 
> 
> everyone say hey to like half of the hwaiting gang! lmao (hwaiting was a fb live show i think? mc’d by eric nam, mostly in english, where a bunch of american kpop idols played low budget games like “guess who’s eric nam by feeling up his ears”. quality content ngl.) but besides hwaiting idols, no one new here is based off real people. 
> 
> minor characters whose ages I’ve changed: jae (day6) - 15, jaime park - 15, ashley (ladies code) - 16, bm (kard) - 16. yes i know its slightly weird,, it was weird to write lol
> 
> ive been watching some of jae’s streams lately so he feels Very weird to write but. we in it now
> 
> i have no sense of time. i forget what time of the year the rest of the fic is set in. so uhhh i just guessed autumn? if it’s wrong pretend it’s not wrong. thanks
> 
> cw: mentioned child abuse (teacher to student). assumption that a non-human person is a ‘pet’ (and people refer to him as ‘it’)

San wakes up with a start. “Wooyoung?” He whispers, blinking quickly to try to get his eyes to adjust faster. “Wooyoung…?” 

He’s alone. Lying in a bed, surprisingly, considering the last thing he remembers is landing in a field. It’s not a comfortable bed, but still… Weirdly, there was no Jongho-related dream last night. That’s… worrying. He sits up, because anyone watching would have heard him speak already, so there’s no use pretending. The room is hospital-white. There’s a sink in the corner and nothing else. The bed he’s lying on is a hospital bed, guard rails and all, and there’s a little remote by his elbow that has one big red button saying ‘call nurse’ in English. 

That’s not a good sign. 

He presses it, for lack of any other course of action, and after a few minutes of just staring at the door, it opens, and a woman in scrubs comes in, ‘aha’ing and clapping her hands when he blinks at her groggily.  _ “Hello, I’m Nurse Williams, you can call me Julie. How are you feeling?” _

He wills the words to come out of his mouth in English. He’s only a little bit rusty, honestly, and was well on his way to fluent before he left for Haven, so it should be fine.  _ “Uh, disoriented?” _

_ “Ah, you do speak English! Good, good. Otherwise we would have had to pull in one of the kids to translate, and we try not to parade them around… We had to dig in your bag for identifying documents, and we found your passport and family keys.”  _ She beams at him.  _ “And can I just say, I’m such a huge admirer of your family’s work.” _

Oh, fuck. 

_ “Uh,”  _ San says.  _ “Thanks?” _ Where the hell in America/Canada (going off the accent) did they land where people  _ know his family? _ He doubts it’s a lawyer thing, people don’t really idolize lawyers unless they’re also lawyers, so are they really that famous in the hunting community or is this just the biggest bout of unluck San’s ever had? 

_ “Now, we didn’t see what happened but Jamie told us she and Jae found you knocked out on the ground. Do you remember what happened?” _

_ “No.”  _ San swings his legs off the bed to stand, and the nurse rushes forward to help. He wants to be grateful, but whoever she is, she approves of what his parents do, and he doesn’t think that’s the kind of person he wants to associate with.

Hopefully no one’s told his parents where he is.

_ “Do you feel alright?” _

She runs through a few questions, and he must pass, because she lets him stand on his own and gestures for him to follow. 

Wherever they are, the halls are just hospital-y enough that San knows this isn’t a normal building, but not hospital-y enough that San would say it’s an actual hospital. Maybe a medical wing for a building of some kind? Either way, they head down a hall for a little bit, passing doors that, from what San can tell, all lead into identical hospital-like rooms. They make a turn, and then she knocks on and opens a door, holding it open for him to go inside first. 

Inside is a room similar to all the others, except this one has cabinets and a computer and a person sitting on a chair in front of the computer. 

For the record, the only reason he isn’t panicking, and doesn’t panic when the door closes, is because it seems that these people actually know of his parents, which hopefully means he has some sort of leverage, as long as his parents aren’t actually contacted. 

It’s a little bit of a blur honestly. 

The person is a doctor. She tells him what Nurse Williams told him, then elaborates saying that since he doesn’t remember, the kids will be assumed guilty of knocking him out, accidentally or not. The doctor also tells him his bag and his cat and his pet are with the principal (so this is a school?) in her office. 

The ‘cat and pet’ thing trips him up before he recalls that if these people are hunter adjacent, they’re not exactly going to be friendly to mer. 

Pet, though. San tries not to scrunch his nose. How fucking dehumanizing. 

He rushes out of there, after that, worried about Wooyoung. Nurse Williams volunteers to show him to the office, a little too eagerly for San’s comfort, but it’s a good thing, he supposes, because she babbles on a bit about the school’s history and he gets a little context for what he’s walking in on. 

First of all, the grounds are pretty. It’s autumn, which means the leaves are turning colors and starting to fall. It’s gorgeous, with the amount of forest around them. There’s a big open quad surrounded by buildings, and more buildings off to the side, but other than that the area is full of trees. The buildings themselves are brick and white, but pretty nondescript. 

There’s a few kids—high school age maybe?—lingering around, sitting in the grass. They eye him warily. Or maybe it’s Williams they’re eyeing. Either way, they don’t look happy to see them. 

Williams talks about the founding of the school, how it looked to Salem for inspiration but realized the trails were fundamentally flawed and they would have to start early, if they ever had hope of ridding the world of evil. The school came into being as a place for parents to send “troubled” children to, in hopes of weeding out the actual evil and keeping it contained. 

And in that, San realizes that he does know where they are. 

Molton Correctional School, somewhere in the northeast United States. His parents had actually taken him here for a visit, when he was younger. And that visit is a whole can of worms that he should really sort through on his own, when he can afford to stop paying attention to his surroundings.

Williams leads him into one of the buildings, and down a hall with creaky wooden floors and dim lighting. “She’s right inside,” she says, and with a cheerful goodbye, leaves him outside a big dark wooden door. 

He knocks. Because what else is he supposed to do?

_ “Come in.” _

The office is nice. Or, well. Nice in a sense, he supposes. It’s dim as the hallways, and the whole thing is very colonial America, but he can see how someone might enjoy the aesthetic. Inside a stern woman sits at the desk, and across from her are two kids. Presumably the kids Williams had mentioned. 

San tries his best not to look too concerned about Wooyoung, who’s sitting in a chair in the corner, glaring. San can’t blame him for glaring. If he were tied to a chair and gagged he’d be glaring too. 

_ “San Choi,”  _ the principal greets. San, once again, has to consciously stop himself from wrinkling his nose. It sounds too close to anchovy for his comfort.  _ “It’s a pleasure to meet you again.” _

_ “I’d say the same, but I don’t remember you being principal, last I visited…?” _

_ “The old principal retired. I was a teacher at the time.” _

Ah, that explains it. 

_ “I assume Nurse Williams told you about the situation,”  _ the principal says.  _ “This is Jae, and Jamie. They’re here to apologize.” _

_ “That’s not—”  _ San begins, because it’s really not necessary, but the principal shakes her head. 

_ “They need to learn accountability for their actions.” _

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Jae says, quietly.  _ “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” _

_ “I’m sorry too,” _ Jamie says. She’s much more outwardly petulant about it, glaring at San’s legs.

_ “It’s fine,”  _ San says, smiling hopefully in a comforting way.  _ “I’m fine, no harm done.” _

The principal frowns, disapproving, but lets it go.  _ “They’ll stay here so they can show you around after this.” _

After this?

_ “I assume you’re here for an inspection.” _

Ah. Okay. So. Alibi.  _ “Yeah,”  _ San says.  _ “I was supposed to ask for a tour as if I was a prospective parent. You weren’t supposed to know.” _ Give her a bit a leverage. Or, well, let her think she has leverage. 

_ “I run a tight ship,” _ she says, and pours him a glass of—probably water? San takes it but doesn’t drink.  _ “Things like this are unusual, I’m sure you understand.” _

_ “Sure,”  _ San says.  _ “You don’t want me to report it, as it’s an anomaly.”  _

_ “I won’t tell your family I know you’re doing the inspection.” _ She raises her glass in cheers, and takes a drink. Confident.  _ “I won’t contact them until they bring it up, or until your inspection period ends, so they don’t know you revealed yourself to me, however unintentionally. I know they don’t handle failure well.” _ An understatement, for sure. _ “And in return, you don’t report this incident.” _

San tilts his head, pretends to consider. He sees the way Jae and Jimin watch him, tense. He’s sure if he says no, they’ll be punished even worse. From what he can remember, the administration was never kind to the students.  _ “Fine with me.” _

_ “Glad you see reason,” _ the principal says, smile wide.  _ “Now, your cat is still in your bag—it hasn’t been that long, and she was extremely upset when we tried to move her. In terms of…”  _ She gestures at Wooyoung, who squirms angrily.  _ “You keep it around, ungagged,” _ the principal says, dubious.  _ “Even if you are from the family you’re from, you can’t control an ungagged siren.” _

Wooyoung’s tense, and now won’t meet San’s eyes. San hopes the gag isn’t the same as the one his family put on Yeosang, because if it is he’s going to throw the biggest fit. 

But he doesn’t have an excuse. The principal is right, no one can control a siren with the ability to sing—not unless the siren is under a spell to begin with. 

Hongjoong said that even the hunting community knows about San’s family. But if he’s wrong… if he’s wrong both Wooyoung and he are dead. If he’s right, the hunter community needs to reevaluate their double standards. 

But it had to have gotten out, at some point. No one is keeping Haven residents in, no one is stopping them from spreading rumors. 

_ “I can control it,” _ San says, not looking away from Wooyoung. He can’t control anything. His magic is still too unpredictable and if they ask for a demonstration it’s not going to go well if Wooyoung can’t act.  _ “You have to know that my family’s… special.” _

A nod. San tilts his chin.  _ “Let me ungag him.”  _

Hesitation, as one would expect. San’s younger than her, and even if he  _ is _ a member of the family, what if he  _ can’t _ control his magic? 

_ “If you’re wrong,” _ the principal says, placing something in her ears,  _ “I’ll kill it and then you.”  _ Ear plugs. San has no idea how well that’ll work. He’s also a little dubious about the ethics of leaving the kids to fend for themselves. They don’t seem too concerned, which is probably a good sign? San’s not sure.

_ “Of course,” _ he says, and hopes that Wooyoung’s getting his nonverbal message to be quiet. He approaches, and the principal has a hand to her phone as a precaution when he removes the gag. It’s just cloth, to his surprise—he can feel magic, if he tries hard enough, but maybe that’s just Wooyoung. If the gag  _ is _ magic, though… For people who are, conceivably, anti-magic, hunters and the school in general sure do seem okay with a whole lot of magic use. 

“Don’t,” San says quietly when Wooyoung makes to speak. “Not here.”

_ “Jae,” _ the principal says.  _ “Show Mr. Choi around the grounds. Would you like me to keep your… pet as you take a look?” _

_ “It stays with me,”  _ San says. _ “It’s difficult for anyone except me to control, I don’t want to cause any incidents…” _

She explains to him what process he’d go through as a prospective guardian to a student, and promises the full experience on Monday, if he’s willing to stay that long. Usually a tour would go on for a week, starting Sunday, so people can really get an understanding of what kind of a place the school is, and since it’s Friday, he’ll have to wait. She gives him a dorm name and room number where he can stay in the meantime, because leaving campus is a whole process and it’s unnecessary when they have many beds inside. 

San thanks the principal for her time and she thanks him in return, and then he’s out of the room. 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Jamie says to Jae, and squeezes his hand, and then when he nods in return she runs off. 

“You speak Korean?” San asks. 

“They don’t like us to.” Jae shrugs. “They don’t like not understanding what we’re saying while we’re saying it.”

“Whichever way you’re more comfortable,” San says. “I won’t tell.”

“Maybe you won’t,” Jae says, glancing at the door. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t know.”

He shows them around the building, still speaking Korean. They’re in the history-slash-math building, right now, and all the imposing wooden doors except the principal’s lead to classrooms. There’s a hall upstairs mostly used for assemblies. 

“Next, we can head to the English building,” Jae says. “The dining hall’s right across the quad from it, so we’ll stop there for lunch, and then see the science and music buildings, and the library, and one of the dorms.”

There are more people out, now—maybe because it’s closer to lunch time and classes are out so students can get food. No one stops to stay hi, and like before, most of them only stare at San suspiciously. 

As they enter the building, Jae’s sleeve slips up and Wooyoung hisses. “That’s—” There’s a band around Jae’s forearm, thin and grey and plasticky, almost like a dog's flea collar. Whatever it is, Wooyoung  _ does not  _ like it. But they can’t be conspicuous. San nudges him, hard, and shakes his head.  _ Not now.  _ What Yeosang said about the ocean back in Haven is sticking with him, and this school is probably saturated enough with magic that something similar is plausible here. Combined with what Jae said about speaking Korean, he feels it’s good to be cautious. They can’t afford to get caught. 

Nothing interesting happens for the rest of the tour, and San’s mostly distracted thinking about the principal’s attitude towards the kids, and the kids’ attitude towards San. So Jae leaves them at the dorm San’s staying in when San says he’ll be fine, and the moment the door shuts Wooyoung mumbles something and scratches something in the wall paint that coats the room in protective magic—against eavesdroppers, probably—and socks him in the arm. 

“I don’t know much English but I understood enough, and if you call me ‘it’ again or insinuate that I  _ belong  _ to you I’ll do worse.” 

“Would you rather I have broken cover and gotten us both killed?”

“I’d rather we weren’t here at all.”

“That makes two of us.”

Wooyoung grunts, and collapses on the bed. San decides not to fight him about it, since it’s a twin, and San’s pretty sure Wooyoung would not hesitate to maim him if San suggested they try to squeeze. 

“I know this school,” San tells Wooyoung quietly. “It’s American. My parents brought me here when I was a kid. They told me it was a disciplinary school for troubled kids, and that I shouldn’t talk to any of the kids even if they try to talk to me. My dad was representing a teacher from Korea in a dispute where the teacher stabbed a kid multiple times, sending him to the hospital.” He grimaces. “My parents argued that the teacher was in the right because the child was clearly disturbed, talking about demons in their room and invisible restrictions on their body.”

“But the kid wasn’t disturbed, and no one here’s troubled,” Wooyoung finishes. “They’re just…”

“Non-human.”

“No, they’re mostly human. They’re magic.”

San nods. That makes sense. From what he knows about the school, the parents willingly sent their kids. He can’t imagine any non-human parent would tolerate hunters anywhere near their child. And in the less-than-a-day that they’ve been here they haven’t seen anything horribly bad, per se, but the way the nurse referred to the kids, and the way Jae acted around him and the principal… not good signs. Then that begs the question—if these kids are human and they have magic and their parents are weirded out enough by the magic to send them to a correctional/disciplinary school, then what makes someone magic? Where do these kids get magic that their parents don’t have, if it’s not hereditary?

He’ll ask Wooyoung later, when he’s less angry. 

San’s pretty sure Wooyoung gets it, that he would’ve done the same if their roles were reversed, but he understands that being referred to like that and treated like that by any member of San’s family would freak him out. So San lets him stew in it.

And, good news, San’s phone finally works. 

Byeol’s happy to be let out of the backpack, and she inches closer to Wooyoung out of curiosity, mrrping at him until he gives in and pets her. He probably smells similar enough to Yeosang that she’s interested because of that. 

San has several missed calls from Taehyung—probably the calls he was getting when he and Wooyoung left Haven. He doesn’t want to risk calling now, and as he texts he’s cautious of what he sends in case there’s some tech-magic hybrid scanning system, but he checks his messages and finds,  _ Moving ur sister to an off grid location. People out looking for her and you. Might send her out of country,  _ from Taehyung. 

_ Okay, _ San responds.  _ Can’t talk much, might have people listening. I’m out of Haven and safe.  _

Relatively, anyway. 

And shit, speaking of being out of the country… San doubts Wooyoung has a passport at all, much less a passport with him, which is going to make flying out of the United States hell. San has his own in his bag, but that’s not going to do much good if they can’t provide proof Wooyoung’s a Korean citizen. San’s not going to leave him here on his own. 

Though maybe he’ll be able to take them out with magic, which would work fine. They just need to figure out why the original transport magic malfunctioned. 

Hopefully Yeosang’s okay. 

San asks, and Wooyoung responds shortly that he didn’t see him when they landed. So maybe he got sent somewhere else? There’s no way to reach him, unless Wooyoung reaches out with magic, and both of them are hyper aware that there’s definitely someone monitoring magical output—any strong peak. Smaller scale magic like Wooyoung’s eavesdropping ward would be fine, but reaching out like that… They can’t risk it. Not until they can leave. And if they keep their cover, it sounds like that won’t be until Tuesday.

They’re both worried. San knows that. So he doesn’t push.

Hopefully, wherever Yeosang is, Jongho’s with him so he’s not alone. The binding should’ve worked. Hopefully they didn’t strand him in Haven with Kyuwon. 

San takes a pillow from the closet and Wooyoung hands him the single blanket wordlessly, and they both sit in the dark wide-awake for longer than is probably healthy, plagued with both jet lag and the adrenaline of knowing that the door, despite locking, won’t hold to a truly determined person, magic-using or not. 

* * *

_ “Sleep.” _

“Jamie,” someone hisses, and San decides not to move, despite the magic not working on him. “He was already sleeping.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“Wha…” Wooyoung stirs, and San thinks he sits up. “Um, hello?”

“You can talk?”

“Jae said he can talk.”

“But then how does Choi keep you ‘under control’?”

“Um,” Wooyoung says, clearly bemused. “What are you doing in here?”

Silence, for a moment, and then shuffling. “We’re here to save you.”

Wooyoung laughs. “That’s sweet. But unless you can get  _ both _ of us out of this school, I don’t really need saving.” That’s nice to hear. As mad as Wooyoung is, at least he isn’t willing to abandon San. 

Or maybe he just knows San’s awake.

“We can’t even get ourselves out,” one of them grumbles. 

A smack. “Shh!” 

“What do you mean? And why did he let you take the bed?”

“He can be nice sometimes,” Wooyoung says. San thinks he means it. 

“But then—” 

“Look, it’s nice of you to try and stage a rescue, but I promise you I’m okay.” Grumbling, from the kids. “Why don’t you tell me about the school? Now that he’s not listening, and no one can hear through these walls. And your names would be nice.” 

They’d never tell San what they’d be willing to tell Wooyoung. Taking advantage of this moment is good. 

“I’m Jamie,” Jamie says. “Or Jimin. It fucking sucks here. They punish us for the smallest shit, and they deliberately set us up to fail.”

“That’s harsh,” the other girl mutters. “Hi, I’m Ashley.”

“It’s not and you know it.”

“Matthiew,” says another. “My friends call me BM, though. Ash and I are 16 and the other two are 15. And Jamie’s right. Ash’s just a suck up most of the time.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I’m Jae,” Jae follows up. “But we met already.” 

“I’m Wooyoung. You had the suppressor spell,” Wooyoung says. And oh. The thing that Wooyoung had tried to tell San about during the tour. They’d forgotten to talk about it when they got to their room. “How long has that been on?”

“Just a day.”

Wooyoung shifts some more. The mattress creaks. “It’s because of us, isn’t it.”

Jae doesn’t answer, but Jamie does. “Yeah. Both of us have it because they wanted to see punishment.”

“They do actually think we did it, though,” Jae says. “They’re not gonna believe he appeared out of nowhere and just collapsed.”

“That’s my fault,” Wooyoung says. “I was transporting him, and the magic went… I’m not sure what happened, exactly. Sorry.” 

“Oh,” Jamie says, disappointed, like she wants to blame San. 

Wooyoung tries to coax a little more information out of them, but everything he gets San already knows, or could infer. Magic is forbidden to be used, they’re not allowed to leave the school except on special “field trips” to the nearby town on Sundays where all of them are required to wear suppressors. They’re punished a lot. They seem more interested in Wooyoung than he is in them, honestly, asking if he actually has a tail, can they see it (“No.”), how siren song works, can he use it on one of them (“Absolutely not.”), how he came to be in San’s possession in the first place (San shudders. He doesn’t like the word choice there). 

The one new thing they learn is that the doors  _ only _ open on Sundays. 

“They think he’s special,” Jamie says. “Or that he snuck in through a backdoor his parents left. But most people can’t get in or out except on Sundays.”

And that is definitely vital information.

“We have to go,” Ashley says, when San can see the sun from beyond his eyelids and there’s an itch on his nose that he’s desperately wanted to scratch for a few minutes now. “We’ll talk to you again, maybe?”

“I’d like that,” Wooyoung says. 

And then they carefully filter out, and then they’re gone. 

“I know you’re awake.” 

No use pretending. San sits up. 

Wooyoung sighs. “Magical correction facility, huh.”

“The nurse I was with before I showed up in the office said it was inspired by Salem.” San shakes his head. “Witch hunting.”

“Sponsored witch hunting,” Wooyoung snorts. 

He’s definitely less angry this morning. Though San doesn’t know if he slept off the anger, or if speaking to the kids just made him sad. 

“What is magic?” San asks, glancing over to him. “Like, if it’s not a species thing. What gives some humans magic and some not?”

“It is a species thing. Any magic human has at least one very, very distant non-human relative. The non-human-ness has been overwhelmed by their human-ness, and most of those descendants don’t have magic and have no idea they’re anything more than human. Because functionally, they aren’t. At least until two lines like this converge, and then the magic comes out.” He twists his fingers and droplets of water appear on his hand, likely drawn out of the condensation in the air. “Mer descendants will have an inclination towards water, nymph descendants will have an inclination towards nature, et cetera. Magic doesn’t come from nowhere.”

“So I have a non-human ancestor,” San says. 

Wooyoung frowns. “You might. Your family is—”

“—Special. So I’ve heard.” Yeosang had said that, too, at some point. “If this school really thinks magic is evil, why are they okay with my family having it?”

“Y’know that comic book group, Suicide Squad?” 

A prison decides to send some of their more controllable superpowered villains to fight other superpowered villains. Armed with the threat of the microchip in their necks blowing their heads off if they defect. “Yeah.”

“More voluntary version of that.” Wooyoung grins, toothy. “The humans know they can’t fight us unless their numbers are greater or they have some of us on their side. So humans with magic whose ideals align with theirs are fine. Sometimes you have to compromise on your morals to get to your goals.”

“Double standards,” San mutters. 

“Yeah, no shit.” 

A moment, where they just contemplate that.

“Do you really think it’s your fault the transport magic malfunctioned?” 

“Well, it was my magic.” 

“And my name.” 

Wooyoung looks at him. It’s obvious he didn’t expect San to notice. “Your name?”

“It was fine when you said yours and Yeosang’s, but you said mine and it just… it didn’t hook. Right?”

Wooyoung laughs. It’s a tired laugh. “Yeah, I guess you’re just special.”

Wow. 

“But in all seriousness.” Wooyoung flexes his wrist, says San’s name, and San feels magic slide off him again. “Yeah. It was your name. Between that and my magic taking the brunt of the backlash from the anchor point switching on Yeosang’s ritual… But it’s my fault for assuming I knew you.” 

You don’t always need to know someone beyond meeting them to use their Name, though, even San knows that. Maybe the point is that Wooyoung still incorrectly views him as his family. Which is fine. San’s fine with that. He knows he’s been complicit in things, even if he’s forgotten them, or he was too young to really understand. 

It just means that Wooyoung won’t be able to take him anywhere. Not until he learns to understand San for who he is, instead of who his family is. 

Looks like they’ll be taking a plane. 

“We need a plan,” Wooyoung says, switching tracks. They’re both clearly uncomfortable with the names topic. “We’ll stay here until next Sunday, in attempt to keep cover, but after that period they might contact your parents, and if that’s the case we need to be out of here.” 

“My parents can’t find us,” San agrees. “There’s something I don’t remember about what happened with me, but my gut feeling says I, specifically, need to stay away from them.” He glances out the window, looking at the flood of people headed for the dining hall. “But are you really willing to leave these kids like this?”

Wooyoung makes a face. “Don’t appeal to my humanity. Don’t forget I have none.” 

Technically he’s half—but whatever. “Humanity or not. They’re kids, and they’re victims of my family just like you have been. Just like Yeosang was. And Jongho.” 

“You can’t save everyone your family’s hurt,” Wooyoung says. “Maybe it’d just make you feel better, maybe you’d actually help, whatever reason you pick, your family’s hurt too many people. You won’t get to all of them.” 

“But these kids are  _ right here,” _ San says. 

“And Haven is under siege.” Wooyoung stands, stretches, walks to the door. “Do you want to leave Hongjoong to deal with the mess your family’s about to directly cause? We can come back here when we fix that.” 

“We have a week here, at least,” San says. “And in that week, I have to try. How bad is a suppressor spell? You looked nauseous when you saw it.”

Wooyoung looks back at him, expression painfully blank. “It’s excruciating. The kids have to be very used to it, to wear one without showing signs of pain.” And he opens the door and steps outside, and San’s forced to follow him because they can’t really afford to split up at this point. Effective end to the conversation.

* * *

Walking around campus is just sad. 

They’re sort of just wandering. There’s not much else for them to do. Like San said, he and Wooyoung stick together, because they’re both worried about what might happen to Wooyoung if they don’t, but that just makes people double take at them harder. 

Word probably made rounds, maybe because of one of the four who’d broken into their room that morning, because no one looks particularly surprised, just… wary. Still wary. 

Ugh. 

“Hi,” someone says, and Jae pops up at their elbows. “Um. Mr. Nam wants to meet you guys.” 

Mr. Nam? 

“He’s an English teacher,” Jae says. “I can show you to his classroom.” 

San and Wooyoung exchange a glance. San shrugs. Why not? It’s not like they’re doing anything.

So Jae leads them to the building, then up the stairs to the second floor, where he gestures at an open door, and immediately runs away. 

“That doesn’t look great,” San says, watching his back as he retreats. “Is he scared of me or the teacher?”

“You,” someone says from inside the room, and then there’s a man gesturing for them to enter. “He’s scared of you.”

The man—presumably Mr. Nam—is maybe around their age, probably older? San would estimate late 20s/early 30s. He does look friendly, and generally more open than the rest of the adults San’s seen around. Well, more open to Wooyoung. People have been alarmingly friendly with San. 

Anyway. He’s speaking Korean, which is nice of him. 

“Choi San,” he says, leaning against the desk. San feels like he’s back in middle school being scolded for something. “It’s been a while since you visited.”

“Do I know you?” San squints at him.

Nam smiles. Somehow it’s a nice smile. San didn’t expect a nice smile. “We met. Briefly.” He lifts up his shirt, just a little. 

Oh. 

Scars.

“Eric,” San says. That’s… probably not good. Maybe? San doesn’t really know. 

San’s visit to this school had been due to that case with the stabbed kid. And he’d met the kid—older than him, at the time. San had been young. They’d met. San’s parents called him names in front of a whole host of people including both San and the kid’s parents.  _ I’m Eric, _ the kid had introduced himself, when San had slipped his parents’ watch and started wandering, and gotten lost. He’d been crying, San recalls. Eric had found him crying in a bush, of all places.  _ What’s your name? _

Eric took him back to his parents and his parents threw a  _ fit. _ They tried to get Eric killed. 

Evidently, it hadn’t worked. 

It’s interesting, though, that he’s a teacher. How’d he manage that?

“I’m glad you’re still alive.” 

Eric laughs. “Thanks, I think.” 

“Was this all? Just saying hi?”

“Sort of.” He leans forward, intent on San. “Why are you here?”

“Inspecting,” San says, on reflex. 

Eric just watches him, mouth a thin line. 

Does he know something? He’s working as a teacher here despite having been a student. Being a student means he has (or had?) magic at some point. He  _ can’t _ be pro administration with what they did to him,  _ why _ is he working here? To be a buffer, maybe?

Or maybe the school’s brainwashing is just that good. 

“Just inspecting,” San says again. He tugs Wooyoung back by the sleeve. This is too close for comfort. “I’ll see you around, Eric. It was nice to see you again. Maybe I’ll sit in on one of your classes.”

He doesn’t think he imagines the darkening of the expression on his face. “Maybe you will,” Eric says, and San gives him one last polite nod before booking it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> editing? idk her
> 
> hnnng this chapter took a bit. im still not entirely happy with it but i feel like i should just. get it out. so i can do the bits i actually am excited about.
> 
> no relation to milton academy. this school is fictional
> 
> molton doesnt have a crew team because they’re scared of the naiads in the river. molton is not a true new england boarding/prep school because it doesnt have a crew team. molton is a disgrace. 
> 
> (san, 21 years old: yEaH i wAs SupPoSed To POsE As a pArEnT  
> principal: that makes perfect sense)


	7. yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which yeosang finds san and buys a cookie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my finals Do be kicking my ass so sorry about the quality of this chapter oof
> 
> also when yeosang speaks english generally assume jongho's translating for him unless jongho specifically takes over

(He’s back in the cellar. 

Yeosang panics, briefly, because  _ what if it was all a dream? _ San, Jongho, Wooyoung, everything… 

But no. 

Hongjoong’s there, blinking up at him sleepily. “Hey, Yeosang.”

There’s no gag, but he’s cuffed to the wall, just like Yeosang was. And he looks tired. Very tired. 

“What are you doing here?” Yeosang asks, looking around the cellar. “What am  _ I _ doing here?”

“You’re dreaming,” Hongjoong says. “I figured out you’re alive from the absolute stench of your magic in this place, and since I can’t reach San or Wooyoung, I tried you. And I’m here because… it doesn’t matter.” His head dips before he straightens it again. He’s definitely exhausted. “I know San got out, but whatever you guys did to do it left residue. They don’t know it was him but they know someone was here and they’re tracking it down. Anyone who’s been in this house knows too much. The magic skimmer--it’s important. You need to stay away.” That must be why there was someone after him at the airport. Hopefully getting on the plane is the magical equivalent of traveling a few miles in a river so a dog can’t track his scent. 

“Hongjoong--” 

“Yeosang, it’s the most important thing in the world right now that all of you stay alive. You’re the only people who know anything about what’s happening. We need you to figure it out, and you know if you come back you’re just walking into their arms.” Hongjoong pins him with a look.

“Okay,” Yeosang says. “Okay, I know--I will.”

“Good.” The door slams open, and Hongjoong winces. “I probably won’t be able to reach you anymore. Good luck.”

“Wait--!”)

* * *

_ That wasn’t fun. _

Yeosang, nursing his aching head, just grunts in response. The woman next to him gives him a concerned look, but doesn’t say anything. He smiles at her shakily. 

He’d been woken up by the landing call. That also hadn’t been fun. He’d spent that entire thirty minutes of descent clutching onto the handles of the seat so hard that he tore the leather, grinding his teeth together hard enough that his jaw still hurts. But they’re here, now. So that’s something. 

Jongho takes over as they leave the plane. He’s seen San go through immigration before, so he knows what to do. Yeosang just watches, fascinated. 

_ Did you see the dream I had? _ Yeosang asks, as Jongho hands over their passport. 

Yeah.

_ I’m worried. _

...Me too. 

The family shouldn’t have been able to touch Hongjoong. The pact between them and the fae is there for a reason, and Hyunjin would’ve  _ known  _ if there was a fae-hunter war brewing. He would’ve told Yeosang. Even if it happened after Yeosang left, Hyunjin would’ve found a way.

But he hasn’t said a word.

Jongho takes them out of the airport and hails a taxi, asking for the nearest Amtrak station. Yeosang takes back over to convince the driver that they’ve paid, when they arrive. 

He feels a little bad about it. 

They find the right train to take, and Yeosang does what he needs to do to convince people he has a ticket, and then they’re on the train and it’s moving and he slumps, a little. 

Do you think the plane threw them off? Yeosang asks.

_ Maybe. Probably. They’re tracking magic and you didn’t do any.  _

True. 

The train should take around two hours. He settles in, as best as he can, and thinks, scathingly, that he didn’t expect being on the run to be this much sitting around and waiting. 

So they’ll find San and Wooyoung, and hopefully between the four of them they can figure something out.

_...Do you think Hongjoong will be okay? _

I have no idea. But he was very determined that we don’t go back to Haven yet, so… we should listen to him.

_ Yeah. _

The train stops a few times along the way. Every time someone new enters, or someone passes Yeosang at all, he tenses, worried that he’s been found. But he hasn’t been. And he won’t be. Because there’s no way he was traced through the plane.

Halfway through he notices the woman he was sitting on the plane with. 

She’s at the other end of the car, and facing away from him, so she doesn’t notice him, but she turns briefly and he ducks out of sight but he does see her face. Definitely the same person. 

When he sits back up, she’s gone. 

_ Weird. _

Very.

When his stop’s called he leaves the backpack behind and exits with a few other people, most of whom are adults with high school-age kids. The kids don’t look happy to be there at all, but none of the (presumably) parents look exactly pleased either. 

_ I wonder if there’s a school. Look at their bags. _

All of the kids are dragging big suitcases. A boarding school maybe?

Yeosang files that in the back of his mind and heads to the center of town. Maybe he’ll ask around for a hotel. He didn’t really have a plan… 

He’s directed to the town’s one and only hotel by a kind stranger. It is, once again, a very small town, so it doesn’t take long to get there. 

“Hi,” Yeosang says, once he reaches the front desk. The woman there blinks at him, and he realizes,  _ oh. _ Yeah. 

_ I got it. _

They switch, so Jongho can speak in English.  _ “Hi. I got separated from my friends on the way here--train left without me around New York City, I had to stay a night or two--and my phone’s dead, so I was wondering if you’d seen two guys my age staying together recently?” _

She grimaces.  _ “Ah, no, sorry! We mostly get parents whose kids are moving in or parents who’re visiting the school, I haven’t seen anyone like that… But if you head to the coffee shop there’s free charging stations, as long as you buy something. Two blocks that way and then right. Can’t miss it.” _

_ “Ah, alright. Thanks. Are there any other hotels around where they might be staying?” _ Jongho presses. 

_ “Uh, just the one. No other towns nearby with lodging. Unless you’re guests of the school.” _ She shrinks just a little, eying them.  _ “You’re not, are you?” _

_ “No, no,” _ Jongho assures her.  _ “We’re just on a bit of a road trip. Train trip? We’re traveling together, post-college graduation vacation.” _

_ “Oh, well, I’m happy you chose to visit Molton! We’re a nice town, really, despite the school being nearby.” _

What the hell is up with this school? 

_ Good question. _

They book a room for the night because it doesn’t look like they’ll be traveling back today regardless of whether or not they manage to find San and Wooyoung. The room is nice. Jongho flops Yeosang’s body down and frowns at the ceiling, then gives him back control.

So if San and Wooyoung aren’t staying in the hotel, either Hyunjin got the location entirely wrong or they’re at the school. Those seem to be the only options. Or maybe there’s a nearby town and Hyunjin got confused…? 

_ I doubt he got confused. Maybe they  _ are _ at the school. _

Maybe. Speaking of Hyunjin, though… 

Back at the house, on Yeosang’s first day out of the cellar, San had given him a letter. Something Jongho wrote when he wasn’t sure he’d make it out alive. To his credit, he was right, and he didn’t. But it was very much crushing to read. Especially… 

It’s not like Yeosang was blind to it. He knew that they were close with each other, generally closer than humans tend to be with friends. But it was normal, to him. He and Wooyoung, for example, are just as clingy with each other as he and Jongho were. That’s not to say he thinks Jongho thought they were dating. In fact from the letter, it’s clear he expected Yeosang’s feelings to be entirely platonic. 

But maybe being that close was a bit of a catalyst. 

And maybe Jongho allowed the closeness because of that.

_ I can hear you. You’re thinking too loud. _

Of course you can hear me, you’re in my head.

Jongho sighs.  _ So you read the letter. _

I did.

_ Do you view me any differently? _

No. But Hyunjin knew, didn’t he?

Stifling silence from Jongho’s end. 

It’s okay.

_He knew._ _Well. He knows._

Yeosang won’t pretend to not know what that means. ‘It’s not me,’ Jongho had said to Hyunjin. Hyunjin, who was a little too expectant upon Yeosang’s pulling back. 

_ You’re right. His thing doesn’t work as well on people who are emotionally connected to someone already. Usually romantically. Something about devotion, I never really paid attention. _

The thing is, he’s pretty fairly certain he’s solidly in the friendship area, with San. Yes, he admitted he’s teetering the edge of the “ _ like  _ like” cliff, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna lose his balance anytime soon. 

The familiarity just gets to him. Anyone else, and Yeosang’s sure he’d be both wary as all hell, and nowhere  _ near _ as willing to take a peak over the ledge. But San’s San.

_ Yeah,  _ Jongho says, warmth spreading through his voice, hot chocolate on a cold day.  _ San’s San. _

And if San feels like coming home after a long day of work and cuddling under a blanket by a fire then, well. Yeosang’s always been told to trust his gut. 

_ He’s a good person, _ Jongho says quietly.  _ I think, after everything settles down, you could be good for each other. _

There’s still things to worry about. Logistically. Not that Yeosang’s actually considering this because like he said, he’s  _ not _ actually in like with San.

_ Yet. _

Fuck off. 

_ Think about it this way. Since you’re both men you don’t have to worry about half human kids. _

Yeosang’s nose wrinkles reflexively. “Oh.  _ Why _ would you bring up kids?”

_ One less thing to worry about. _

I wasn’t worrying about them in the first place! 

_ In all seriousness… you know it’s not frowned upon. Hongjoong’s dating a human. _

He’s what?

Hongjoong’s older than Yeosang and Wooyoung combined. So. That’s certainly something. Or says something about the appropriateness of… all of it. 

_ As for the savior syndrome…  _ Jongho gets quiet.  _ Just approach it well. _

I approach everything well.

_ Last I checked your solution to things was to laugh and fingergun your way out of the conversation.  _

That. Has not changed. Yeosang digresses. 

“We should sleep,” he says aloud. 

Jongho makes a sound of agreement, wanting to escape this conversation as much as he does, and Yeosang pulls from Jongho’s magic to ward the room, before finally allowing himself to fall into a somewhat fitful sleep.

* * *

(He doesn’t understand the dynamics of dream magic, not like Hongjoong might. But when he’s drawn back to the cellar he’s not surprised. 

Hongjoong’s even more tired, this time, barely keeping his head up. And he’s not alone. 

“I can feel you,” Dahye says. She doesn’t look directly at Yeosang, but he can feel her magic bearing down, trying to pin him. “Hey, fishy.”

Hongjoong groans at that, tries to pull himself up, but he doesn’t have the strength. 

“I’ll find you,” Dahye says. “Wherever in the world you’re hiding, I’ll find you.” 

When did she get into Haven? When they’d left the barriers had still been strong, and only Kyuwon had been the only one inside. 

“Wherever you are,” she says, turning, and looking directly at Yeosang. 

She smiles.)

* * *

They get breakfast from the complimentary continental bar. Yeosang pokes at his cold eggs for a solid five minutes before deciding to get back up to get yogurt instead. Despite being prepackaged, it’s somehow… chalky. 

_ Um. So about the dream. _

It’ll be fine. They can’t track me on inherent mer abilities, only magic. I won’t use any, and if I absolutely have to then you can do it instead.

_ Yeah, well then hopefully you don’t get into any tight spots. You  _ do _ remember how horrible at it I was, right? _

Can’t be any worse than San. 

Jongho snorts. _ Fair. _

San isn’t necessarily  _ bad _ at magic. He’s actually fairly decent, as far as Yeosang can tell. His problem is that his magic just doesn’t like to respond. Yeosang’s never seen anything like it before but it’s almost like he and his magic are so out of sync that they’re running entirely separately. And sometimes they coincide, like the two melodies running at different bpms hitting an arbitrary beat, coincidentally, at the same time, but most of the time it’s a miss, discordant. Dissonant. Which then results in occasional bursts of relatively impressive magic--like the transmorphing of the tuning fork--but also extremely unimpressive magic--like San’s attempts to freeze water.

If they had more time, Yeosang would dedicate a bit more thought into  _ how, _ exactly, that’s happening, but they don’t. Not right now. Not while they’re running from very perceptive hunters. 

He waves at the woman at the desk and heads out. He’ll look around a little more and see if anyone has anything to say about the school, and hopefully he won’t have to stay another night. 

_ “Some of the students are on a field trip today,” _ she warns him as he goes.  _ “Look out for them. They’re wont to get in trouble.” _

_ “Thanks,” _ he says, not planning on heeding that advice at all. Maybe if he runs into a student they’ll have some of the answers he needs. 

* * *

Molton is a small town, smaller than Haven. Different, too, in a lot of ways. The buildings are mostly brick with white accents, and there’s a bandstand in the middle of the road. It’s surrounded by trees, and there’s a river running alongside the main street. He crosses a bridge over it on his way to the main road from the hotel, and stops to stare. 

_ You’re pining after water again. _

Can you blame me?

True to the woman’s word, there are high school age kids loitering along the sidewalk, whispering amongst themselves. None of them enter any stores. 

_ “Hey.”  _

Yeosang startles, turning to squint at the teenager who addressed him.  _ “Hi?” _

_ “You’re new,” _ the teenager observes. He looks at the pastry shop Yeosang had been considering, then back at him. When Yeosang doesn’t run screaming (that’s what it looks like he expects to happen, anyway) he continues, saying,  _ “I’ll give you fifteen dollars to get me a lemon tart. It costs five. You can keep the change.” _

Yeosang takes the money and goes inside. He buys the lemon tart and a chocolate chip cookie. 

_ “I saw you talking to that kid,” _ the man working the counter says, handing him the pastries.  _ “I can’t stop you, but you should know to be careful. You’re visiting, right?” _

_ “Briefly.” _

_ “Those kids are bad news. I’d advise you to keep away.” _

The whole town seems to be in fear of teenagers. Yeosang hands the kid the lemon tart and insists he take back the rest of the change, touting the cookie as payment, then when the kid immediately books it as if scared Yeosang would take the tart back, he heads into a few more stores to check them out and ask about the school. Every single shop owner refuses to say any more than what he’s already heard. Every single shop owner also keeps glancing warily out the windows at the gaggles of students throughout their entire conversation. 

It’s getting a little repetitive. 

He hears a shout, somewhere along the way, and the students all immediately scatter.

A girl and a man at the end of the road are arguing over something. It looks heated. 

_ “Hey,” _ Yeosang says, frowning, getting up between them.  _ “What are you doing?” _

_ “Getting this freak off my property,” _ the shop owner says.

_ “Calm down,” _ Yeosang tries to say, but the man just gets more agitated so Yeosang looks around quickly and, finding no one in sight (why does it feel like all the other shop keepers have battened down their metaphorical hatches?), looks him in the eyes and says, once again, “Calm down.” He pushes influence into the words, curling around the syllables. The owner pauses, and droops a little bit. “Walk away.”

He turns to the girl. “Are you okay?”

_ English. _

“Oh, shit, sorry,  _ are you okay?” _

She blinks up at him, then over at where the man was standing. “Was that…?”

“Nothing,” Yeosang excuses, grateful to hear the Korean. “He must’ve just changed his mind.”

She frowns. “They never just ‘change’ their minds.” She looks once more at him, then the empty space. “I’m Jamie.”

“Yeosang.” 

“Oh. Wait. You can call me Jimin if you want.”

“If you prefer Jamie that’s fine.” Yeosang steps forward, careful not to agitate her. “Do you go to the school people have been warning me about?”

“Yeah,” she says. “No other school around here. People don’t want their kids exposed to the  _ troubled _ kids.” She puts a not insignificant amount of bitterness into the word. 

Interesting. 

“Troubled?”

“Like you,” she says, pointing at the empty space. “That was magic, wasn’t it? We’re not supposed to talk about magic.” And now that he’s looking, he sees a band on her forearm. 

_ That’s a suppressor. _

I know what suppressors look like. 

_ Just trying to be helpful. _

“The school put those on you?” Yeosang asks, incredulous. They’re supposed to be excruciatingly painful. Luckily, Yeosang’s never worn one, as the family wanted him  _ for _ his magic. 

“Every chance they get,” Jamie confirms. She squints at him. “You’re not another one of their traps, are you?”

“Not to my knowledge.” 

_ If the school’s a magic prison, then San can probably get away with being from the family, but Wooyoung…  _

I know.

“Have you had any visitors lately? To the school?”

She frowns at him again. “...Yeah. A hunter and a siren.” 

Oof. 

“Where can I find them?”

Her frown deepens. “You  _ want _ to find the hunter?”

“He’s a friend,” Yeosang says. “I know it’s… weird. But I know him.”

_ You probably could’ve told her you’re looking to kill him. That would’ve gained her trust faster. _

Well it’s too late for that, isn’t it.

“If you’re sure,” she says dubiously. “He’s with Jae, probably. W--the siren’s back at the school cos  _ Principal Howard _ didn’t want to ‘endanger the townies’ or whatever, but Choi’s supposed to look around as part of the tour.”

Oh boy. Hopefully Wooyoung hasn’t put them in a tight spot. “And where can I find Jae?”

* * *

Jamie talks the whole walk through the town. It’s not a bad thing--Yeosang’s glad she’s filling what would otherwise be an extremely awkward silence--but it’s a lot to take in. She tells him about how much the townies hate the kids at the school (which fits the way Yeosang’s heard them talk) because the administration spreads lies about them being mentally unstable, etc etc. Which is a lot to unpack. (The shopkeepers have started glaring distrustfully at Yeosang, too. He has a feeling that he won’t be welcome back at the hotel.)

She carefully edges around the topic of what exactly the administration actually does to them, beyond the suppressors. Yeosang’s a little bit thankful for that, because if he found out he’s sure he’d be beyond upset, and he really needs to concentrate right now. 

“Over there,” Jamie says, pointing at a grassy area beyond the last store. 

And yeah. There’s San. 

“Jae!” Jamie calls, and San and the kid with him--Jae, then--look up.

“Holy shit,” San says, and then he’s walking up to Yeosang and crushing him in a hug. Yeosang’s arms come up reflexively and he clutches right back. “We were so fucking worried.”

“Thanks,” Yeosang says dryly, patting San’s back. “You guys okay?”

It’s good to see him.

_ Mhm. _

Oh, shut it.

He feels familiar, and that’s comforting. It’s been a wild few days and Yeosang is tired. And San is warm and solid and really, really good at hugs. He wants to melt into it but it ends all too soon.

“Landed in a bit of a rough spot.” San draws back, glances at Jae and Jamie, who are now huddled together whispering. “I take it she knows you’re not human.”

“Yeah. And she thinks you’re a hunter,” Yeosang says. “Rough spot indeed?”

San snorts. “That school… my parents are on the board. They’re doing something here. I’m just trying to figure out what.” Jae and Jamie are still whispering fervently, but San lowers his voice anyway. “The founders were inspired by Salem. You know, the famous witch-hunting town?”

“Thats…” Yeosang grimaces. “So the kids are all human, then? Human parents get freaked out over their magical kids doing supernatural things, think they’re possessed or something, send them here?”

“I think so.”

Maybe they can solve this easily by talking to the parents and telling them about what’s happening at the school. They probably just don’t understand how much pain suppressors actually cause, and need a rational adult to explain that magic isn’t  _ bad _ and doesn’t deserve punishment like that. 

_ Sounds a little too optimistic. _

What’s wrong with too much optimism?

_ Hn. _

Yeosang wonders briefly if he should bring up Jongho, but as he listens to San’s explanation of what happened on his end, he decides to leave that for after they figure out how to get the two of them out. San probably assumes Jongho’s just lurking, anyway, rather than being inside Yeosang’s head. 

“I don’t want to just leave them,” San finishes lowly. “Especially with Eric and… this is my family’s fault,  _ again. _ ”

“You can’t save everyone they’ve hurt,” Yeosang says. 

“Funny,” San says. “Wooyoung said the same.”

They sit on that for a moment. 

What if that’s just… the thing that he’s doing? Yeosang  _ knows _ what San showed him in the house--the vulnerability, the care--isn’t fake, but that isn’t all that matters. Where is that care coming from? He certainly showed guilt, when he gave his all to help Yeosang recover, insisting that Yeosang take it as recompense for what he suffered rather than something he’d need to pay back. 

But Yeosang doesn’t want to be San’s feel-good project. 

“I’ll ask around to see if anyone knows anymore,” Yeosang says, finally. “I can probably find a naiad colony. Nymphs will be more prevalent but they might not like me poking my nose in. And I might go to the coast to find mer. I’ll have the best luck there but they might be completely unaware.”

“Okay,” San says. He looks back in the direction the school must be. “Wooyoung was gonna try to talk to some of the kids while I’m out. Hopefully he found something.” 

There’s not going to be any way for them to communicate. 

If he had time, Yeosang would whip up some kind of communicator--a conch or mirror phone, something,  _ anything _ \--but they don’t have time. The bell’s already ringing, loud and deep, signifying the end of the field trip period.

“We need to go,” Jae says. He looks between them one more time, then starts walking away. 

Jamie lingers a little longer. “Nice to meet you,” she says to Yeosang. “Despite your questionable choice of friends.” She darts away before San can respond. 

“I’ll find a way to get to you,” Yeosang promises when San stays rooted to the ground, watching Jae’s retreating back. “Now go before you miss your window to get back onto campus.  _ Someone _ needs to go be Wooyoung’s impulse control.”

“It won’t be me,” San quips, but it gets him moving, and he gives Yeosang one last hug before speeding along the path. 

_ It’ll be fine,  _ Jongho says, as they watch San go. 

Now who’s the optimist? 


	8. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san does some thinking and wooyoung teaches sex ed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ateez's butt debate will haunt me for the rest of my life and if i had the motivation id include it instead of what i wrote last week but my brain is a soup and i am tired
> 
> cw: smth that could probably be construed as a very specific version of The Sex Talk (tm). very Very lightly implied abuse of children in a school setting.

Jamie avoids him, which he expected, but Jae actually sticks close. 

He’s been acting a little weird since San talked to Eric. Maybe Eric said something… but Jae pops up wherever San goes, and didn’t protest when the principal volunteered him to show San around the town (not that he did much showing). 

“The townies don’t like us anyway,” he’d said, when they took a rest at a bench. “It’s not like I could really show you anything.”

And then Yeosang had shown up. And San’s grateful to see him, of course, grateful to know that he hadn’t been left behind in Haven, grateful he’s helping look for info on the school, but now Jae’s acting even weirder. 

“You know a lot of sirens,” he says. 

San looks over at him. They’re in line at the gate, but the screening is fairly thorough, so it’s backed up. That’s the biggest reason San didn’t offer to try to sneak Yeosang back in with him, along with being fairly certain Yeosang wouldn’t appreciate being trapped anywhere again. “How did you know what he is?”

“I can just tell,” Jae says. “Jamie didn’t know, but I told her.” He shrugs. “You… don’t actually seem that bad.”

“You’ve known me for, like, a day,” San says, bemused. “And you didn’t talk to me for most of it.”

Jae shrugs again. “I can still tell.”

They move forward a bit. 

“Eric thinks you’re up to something.”

San’s not surprised. He  _ had _ seemed very wary. “Should you be telling me that?”

“No.” Jae grins at him. “But you’re not up to anything bad. I can tell. Your siren friends like you, so you can’t be planning anything horrible.”

“Maybe,” San says. “You should probably still not trust me.”

“Maybe,” Jae echoes. “But I’ve done the math. Whatever you’re here for, you aren’t gonna hurt anyone.” San stays quiet, worried about being overheard. Jae pats his shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know.” He winks, and then he’s stepping up to the guard and, because the screening happens one person at a time, by the time San gets inside the walls, Jae’s already gone. 

* * *

“Matthew got in trouble for breathing too loud,” Wooyoung spits, the minute San slips back into their room. “During his  _ exercise period.  _ At the  _ gym.” _

“That seems unreasonable.”

“Beyond unreasonable.” 

San sits back, out of the way of Wooyoung’s pacing. “So you agree. We should help.”

Wooyoung sighs through his nose. “I—I guess if we’ll be here anyway—we should try. But it’s a week, you know that, right? How much can we do in a week?”

“I know…” 

At least he won’t be doing this alone then.

“You can snoop through the administration,” Wooyoung says, smug. “I’ll talk to the kids.”

Dammit. It’s the right move to take, yeah, but he really doesn’t want to talk to any of these people more than he has to. The taste he got on the first day was… more than enough to set the tone. “Are you going to be okay alone?”

“I survived today, didn’t I?”

That’s fair. San had tried to make it abundantly clear that no one was to touch Wooyoung under any circumstance, going as far as to make up some story where a while ago a rare creatures collector tried to steal him, and because of the spell Wooyoung had to just follow him, so now whenever anyone but San does anything to him, he  _ is _ allowed under the grounds of the spell to fight back. They had been (rightfully) wary of this but he hadn’t budged. If Wooyoung has to fight, he has to fight. 

“I saw Yeosang,” San says abruptly. “He looked fine. He said he got sent to Taipei.”

Wooyoung winces. “The backlash must’ve pushed him there… I assume he couldn’t get in.” He doesn’t look as broken up about it as San expected him to be. 

“Yeah. He said he’ll ask the local naiads and nymphs and others for any info on the school, until we can get out.”’

“That might be helpful.” He sits down heavily on the bed. “And he seemed… okay?”

“As okay as he can be.” 

San doesn’t really know how to say that Jongho’s probably with him. It’s a detail that would take a lot of proving, and he can’t prove Jongho’s presence when Jongho’s not present. Though Wooyoung’s had one close friend ‘come back from the dead’ recently, so maybe he won’t be so quick to discard it as a lie. 

“What happened at the maze?”

He looks up. “What?”

“When we were being shot at.” Wooyoung has a funny look on his face when he speaks, like he’s not really sure if he should be concerned or angry. “We made it to the entrance but you froze up. And then you ran back out.”

“I…” The phantom sensation of something burning through his veins makes a reappearance. “I don’t know what prompted me to do it.”

“The curse?” 

“No. The curse is retroactive. I’ve never lost control like that.” He’d forgotten he’d told him about that. Maybe it is the curse. But he’d had a… vision? So he’s pretty sure it’s related to what he’s been seeing, not what he forgot. It’s possible they’re intertwined, but… he’s not sure.

“The sniper didn’t make it back to their camp, did they.”

San swallows. “No. They didn’t.”

He has the impression that Wooyoung’s scanning him for something but he isn’t quite sure what. “It happens.” 

San snorts. Sure.  _ It happens.  _ Like it’s a daily occurrence. Just casually killing someone.

“Are you…” Wooyoung’s nose scrunches. Disgruntled. “...okay?”

“I haven’t really examined that yet,” San admits. “I’m repressing.” 

“That’s fair.”

Aaand this conversation’s turning out to be even more unbearably awkward than San had initially thought. “Is it bad that I don’t feel… remorse?”

“I don’t think so. But I’m maybe not the best metric for human morals.” Wooyoung smiles like he’s just told a joke. San tries not to read too far into that statement. 

He doesn’t feel remorse. If the sniper had lived, his family would know he’s been in Haven, and that would be capital-b Bad. But still. That was a person. A whole entire person with a life and family and friends. 

It’s startling how easy threads can just… snap. 

It hadn’t taken any effort. He’d just reached out and stopped up the barrel and let the sniper fire, and then there was shrapnel and so, so much blood, and whatever the hell Jongho was doing next to him. And then, on the ground, laid the frayed end of a life. 

“You did what you had to do to keep on surviving. You couldn’t let them report your presence.” 

San wishes he could adopt that mentality. But he’s still seeing everyone for their individual worth as living breathing people, and that’s sort of what got him into this mess in the first place, isn’t it? Compassion? Unwillingness to ‘understand’ that some people are not people at all? 

Is that really a bad way to be thinking?

If this were an action movie, someone would be telling him, now, that that mindset’s going to get him killed. Maybe it’d be Wooyoung. He does seem the type.

“Maybe,” San says. “Would you have killed them, in my shoes?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, without hesitation. He’s serious, more somber than San’s seen him so far. “I would have.”

* * *

San doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

He’s coming back from a long exhaustive conversation with some of the higher ups in the administration, and he. Is. Tired. Both tired of people being horrible and ready to collapse onto his makeshift blanket bed. 

“We have one of the highest turnouts,” one of them had boasted, carefully not saying anything incriminating. They speak in code even amongst themselves, even with him. Paranoia, maybe? Regardless, his mind has been working overtime to decode every loaded statement they deliver, and he still can’t figure out what to do with that one. Turn outs of what? Converted kids? New students? ‘One of the highest’ implies multiple—is this a chain? Schools strewn across the globe, trapping magical children. 

He’ll figure it out later. 

He gets to the door to his and Wooyoung’s temporary room, and he can, surprisingly, hear voices inside. He’d thought Wooyoung would have the sense to keep up the anti-eavesdropping ward… 

“—from magical ancestors,” Wooyoung’s saying. 

The kids all go ooh. “So like you?” Jamie asks. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says. “Mer, nymphs, etc etc. You get some of the traits, too. Not any drastic physical differences to your body composition, because there’s too much human in you for that, but dwarf descendants tend to be short. Mer descendants love to swim. Minor stuff.”

“Wait, then what happens with a half-mermaid? Will they only have a tail from the knees down?”

“Mer,” Wooyoung corrects. “Half mer may or may not have tails. Depends on how strong their mer genetics are. It also depends on how the baby was conceived.”

Silence, for a moment. “How do you have sex with a tail?”

San feels his face get at least five shades redder and he backpedals hastily. 

“Well, you see—” Wooyoung starts slyly. 

“No, no!” Jamie interrupts. “No. Please don’t answer that. BM,  _ why _ are you asking?”

“I’m curious!” BM protests, and he actually sounds serious even as the other three break down into giggles around him. “No, really!”

“What about fae?”

Another pause. “What about them?”

“You mentioned a few species,” Jae says. “But are faeries real?”

“They are. You shouldn’t have to worry about them, though. They mostly keep to themselves. There’s only a few human descendants—and the fae always keep an eye on them. You’d know if you were fae, trust me.” 

“Why are there so few?”

Wooyoung hums. “Fae and humans don’t really mix. A long, long time ago… there was a time when the court was trying to deal peacefully with humans. Some of the fae took issue with that. They tried to stage a coup, and they… well, they failed. The stories vary depending on who you ask, but some people say those fae went on to establish the unseelie.”

“The evil ones.”

“Not evil. Just malicious.”

“What does this have to do with human descendants?”

“Some people believe those fae that rebelled were cursed to be human instead,” Wooyoung says. “To have human lifespans and live in the human world. And some of them had children.” 

“Huh,” Jae says. “And the fae watch over them?”

“I think it’s less ‘watch over’ and more ‘keep an eye on’.” 

The topic of the conversation devolves, and then they’re back to inquiring about mer sex, and Jamie’s shrieking for BM to shut up and Wooyoung’s devolved into laughter, and San decides to draw back, because he really doesn’t want to hear the mechanics of, in Wooyoung’s words, how to fuck a fish.

* * *

Later that day, after San returns to find the room devoid of sex-focussed teenagers, Jae takes them to the dining hall. They’d been, of course, since they’ve been at the school for a few days now and they do have to eat, but they’ve been just making sandwiches and taking them out wrapped in napkins, unsure of where they’d be welcome to sit.

“I think it’d be fun,” Jae says, grinning. “San can meet BM and Ashley, we can have a party.” 

“Jamie staring holes into my head is not my idea of a party,” San mutters. 

Jae just grins wider. “She’ll warm up to you.”

It’s not really feeling that way. 

This time, instead of beelining for the sandwich bar and immediately running right back out, they follow Jae to the hot food line. He mumbles advice to them—chicken parm yes, rice no—and they fill their plates and follow him to the far corner of the left side. 

_ “He’s here!” _

“Jae,” someone who has to be BM says, “do you or do you not agree that dogs would be better overlords than cats?”

That throws both San and Wooyoung for a loop, but Jae just sits down like he’s used to it. He temples his fingers like a supervillain in a comic book and says, “no.”

“Hey—”

“Oh come on—”

“No, no, okay, listen. Five hundred IQ analysis.” 

Jamie groans and buries her face in her hands. Wooyoung takes initiative and sits, dragging San down with him. 

“So. If dogs were our overlords.” He pauses, for dramatic effect. “We would never get anything done.”

“Do we  _ need _ to get anything done—”

“BUT! If cats were our overlords, they’d overwork us. Dogs would just make us play with them. All the time. But cats… Cats are an allegory for capitalism.” 

The table riots. Luckily, the rest of the hall is equally loud, so it doesn’t really register on anyone’s radar. 

“They are  _ not,” _ Ashley wails. 

Jae nods sagely. “Yes they are!”

“Shouldn’t we be speaking English,” Jamie asks, peaking out from behind her fingers. 

_ “Our actual overlord is Korean, they’re not gonna say anything in front of him,” _ BM says in English, glancing at San. 

San’s eyebrow ticks up.  _ “Actual overlord?” _ He asks, amused. 

“Yeah, uh, he speaks English,” Jae tells a now-horrified BM. “I guess Jamie and I forgot to mention that.”

_ “Sorry,”  _ BM says, bowing his head. 

“It’s fine,” San says. “I think it’s funny.” 

Wooyoung snorts. 

“Uh,” BM says. “Thanks?”

They’re a little less on edge now that he’s declined to yell at them for technically probably insulting him, and San honestly hadn’t noticed how tense they were until they stop being tense. Jamie leans on Jae and BM slumps in his seat and they speak easier. They’re not truly relaxed, no—San can see, now, the tension lining Ashley’s shoulders—but it’s much better.

He stays on the outskirts, and he can tell Wooyoung wants to contribute, but as they’re out in the open, he says nothing. Like BM said, the teachers chaperoning this side of the cafeteria get close when they hear the Korean, but upon seeing San lean in and contribute exactly one word, they back off.

They pose a few more hypotheticals to each other, arguing back and forth so fervently San feels like he’s sitting in on an actual debate, despite the asinine topics. 

They only get heated a couple times, but unfortunately one of those times Jae playfully pushes Ashley and she loses her balance, tilting into San. And San’s arm is jolted off the table, knocking a cup over, leaving Ashley staring, horrified, at the stain on San’s shirt. “It’s okay,” he says, pressing a napkin to it. 

“No it’s not,” Jamie whispers. 

A teacher swoops in.  _ “Who did that?” _

There’s silence at the table, and San would speak up if he weren’t so taken aback.  __

_ “Well?” _

_ “It was me,” _ San says, finally finding his voice.  _ “You wouldn’t have seen it from that angle. I knocked the glass over. They’re all fine. Sorry about that.” _

_ “But—” _

_ “It was me,”  _ San repeats. 

The teacher frowns, but none of the kids are speaking up to the contrary and San doubts he wants to upset him. So he backs off. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jae says, maybe too knowing. 

“Maybe not,” San says. He stacks Wooyoung’s plate on top of his and slides it back to him. Wooyoung’s eye twitches but he doesn’t protest. “I should go speak to some of your teachers before officially going on the tour. Any advice on where to start?”

_ “You already met Nam,” _ Jae says. “Honestly I’d recommend not meeting anyone besides him.”

“ _ Meyers _ is nice,” Ashley supplies. “He’s also an English teacher. And  _ Johnson  _ in the music department.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” San says. He stands. “Can Wooyoung stay with you?”

“Sure,” Jae says. “We can do illegal magic things together behind your back.”

Wooyoung’s face contorts like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Maybe don’t do that,” San says, glancing at the patrolling teachers. “But have fun.”

* * *

Neither of the teachers tell him anything he didn’t already know. 

It’s frustrating, trying to pull information out of them. Like pulling teeth, or whatever the less gruesome equivalent is. 

No matter how much he wishes the answer would fall into his lap, the situation just gets more complicated. Is this school even important to what’s happening in Haven? He’d thought so at first, but maybe his parents had some other reason for being so involved in the place. He’s lived by the idea that nothing is by coincidence and so far it hasn’t led him astray but maybe this just… is. There’s nothing here connecting the school to Haven but his family. 

A side project, maybe?

He takes the long way around to the English building, watching groups of students huddled around a net play spikeball. They’re all laughing, smiling, having fun. 

When he was in college, he didn’t have people like that. And some of that was his own fault but some of it was his parents—or maybe just the effect they had on him. San didn’t have a good sleep, the first night he spent away from their house. He scared his roommate. Woke him up in the middle of the night with his crying. 

San doesn’t remember it, but according to his roommate (whose name he still doesn’t remember), he’d been repeating one phrase over and over.  _ There are monsters outside. _

Freaked him out, rightly. He’d been a chill guy, though, completely willing to put up with San’s idiosyncrasies to the point where he actually started to collect those little diner salt packets and carry them around with him, in case San felt the need to toss it over a shoulder. Bread in a sandwich baggie, too, after he’d discovered that milk goes bad fast when it’s just sitting in a backpack all day. 

Demon and fae repellant, respectively. Though salt goes for just luck, too. 

At the end of the year, he didn’t ask San to room with him again, and San didn’t tell him he wouldn’t be back. To his credit, he did text to ask what’s up a couple days before San left for Haven. 

San didn’t reply. 

The thing about emotional attachments, then, is that he  _ wants _ them, now—now that he knows his emotional distancing was his parents just fucking him over with their borderline cult thinking. But he doesn’t know how. And would it even be a good thing? Dragging people into how he’s living now? If he had replied to the guy, he would’ve been worried when San went radio silent. Even now, what could he tell any sane human living in a purely human world? That he’s in America for shits and giggles? And no, he’s not puttering about New York or LA seeing the sights, he’s in fuck all New-Something at a glorified conversion camp that his parents personally sponsor. 

And making friends in the non-human realm won’t be easy either, not with his name. His family.

His friends in Haven… they are friends, right? He thinks so. Mingi, at least, he can say for sure. Yunho probably as well. Hongjoong and Seonghwa both have the air of someone who both knows something you don’t and is fully willing to capitalize on that knowledge. But he’d call them friends.

The thought’s a little warming, in the chilly weather. He keeps it close to his chest, presses his hands there as if to contain it. 

Wooyoung, though. He doesn’t know what to think.

And Yeosang… fuck, what is he doing with Yeosang? 

The speed at which they became close is worrying. Worrying enough, even, that if San didn’t know what siren influence feels like, thanks to Yeonjun, he would think that’s what it was. 

But he does know, so he doesn’t. 

Then what is it?

Yeosang, the memories that don’t fit his continuum, the memories he’s missing, the school, his magic, and his parents. 

They all seem so separate, yet interwoven at the same time. He doesn’t have enough pieces to even begin looking at the big picture. He doesn’t even know where to begin. 

It’s a jigsaw puzzle, no? He tells himself jokingly. Pick up the corner pieces. Start on the outside and work your way in. 

He reconvenes with Jae and Wooyoung outside Eric’s classroom. “We had fun doing illegal magic,” is Jae’s opening line. Wooyoung snickers, and San’s saved from responding by Eric opening the door and beckoning them and the waiting students inside. 

San never really paid that much attention in his lit classes, but he’s pretty sure Eric’s a great teacher. The students seem really engaged and actually participating, which is more than he can say for the math class he saw the other day.

Or maybe the students in this class are more certain that Eric would protect them, if San tried anything. 

“You’ve been very distinctly un-busy,” Eric says after class, glancing between San and Wooyoung and Jae. Wooyoung silently casts an anti-eavesdropping ward, and Eric and San both nod to him thankfully. 

“Just looking around,” San says. 

“Hm.”

“They’re not up to anything,” Jae insists, and from the way Eric just looks resigned this isn’t the first time he’s heard it. 

“You picked a bad week to come here,” Eric says, completely ignoring Jae’s comment. “I didn’t believe Jae at first, when he started insisting that you weren’t here for anything bad. But Ashley told me what happened in the cafeteria.”

The cup? “That wasn’t really anything.” 

“Your parents would’ve jumped at the opportunity to get one of us—one of the students punished. You know that.”

Intimately. And speaking of that slip— “Why did you join the staff?” San asks, since the question’s been nagging at him. “You, particularly, have a very good reason to want to leave and never come back.”

Jae perks up. “Wait, what reason?”

“Okay, don’t you have another class to get to?” Eric shoes Jae out of the room. Jae protests the whole way, but he sulks off to his next class eventually. 

“I couldn’t abandon another generation of  _ kids _ to… this.” Eric gestures to the walls, encompassing the school. Maybe even the circumstances beyond the school. “And I want you to know that. These kids… they’re just kids, San, and I don’t care what I have to do to protect them. I can barely stand against any of the staff, much less you, but if that’s what I have to do to give them a fighting chance of surviving, I’ll do it.” 

San doesn’t have to tap into whatever magic he has to know that he’s telling the absolute truth. And, well, the kids do really like him. It does make sense.

“He’s not going to hurt them,” Wooyoung says, before San can even think of a response to that. “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We landed here on accident.” 

Eric squints at him. “So you  _ can _ talk. Jae said, but I thought…” 

“I’m running from my parents,” San says. Wooyoung turns to give him a  _ what the shit _ look but he shrugs it off. It’s fine. Eric’s the last person who’d rat them out for that, and, well, Eric’s been telling the truth. San can tell, same as he could tell with Hongjoong in Haven. And, unlike the kids, Eric probably can keep the rest of the school out of his head and his thoughts. “We landed here by mistake.”

“Hell of a mistake to make.” 

“You’re telling me.” San snorts. “We’ll be out next sunday. No hurting the kids. I promise.” 

Eric’s face twists. “Sunday?”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “It’s not like we can just leave whenever we want, you know that… the gates are only open on sunday.”

“I thought you could teleport out. You teleported in. All of the staff’s been told that you’re near overpowered and can essentially do anything.” 

San wants to laugh. Oh, if only. “Like Wooyoung said, we landed by accident. I don’t think either of us could teleport out if we tried.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Eric says. There’s definitely something he’s not telling them but San doubts he’d tell them willingly if they pushed. Hopefully he’ll decide to trust them with whatever it is sooner rather than later. “You really don’t know what they’re doing, do you.”

“We know they’re hurting the kids—”

“No,” Eric interrupts. “That’s not it. You really have no idea.”

San and Wooyoung exchange a glance. “No. We don’t.”

“Okay,” Eric says. He opens the door, gestures for them to leave. “Follow me. I’ll show you. Someone was probably going to show you eventually, to brag, so we’ll probably be fine if we get caught.”

“Show us what?”

“Show you why I came back,” Eric says grimly. “Show you what, exactly, they’ve been doing to these kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been unhappy with my writing lately, bc i write more with plot in mind than with the actual impact of words... idk. im getting back into it but its frustrating to try and get the words out and they just dont fit together like they used to 
> 
> anyway
> 
> hope you've all had a good week <3 <3 <3 and to those who still have exams... good luck, you got this!!!


	9. yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which yeosang does some soul searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for your comments last time <3 it really means a lot... im feeling a little better about writing this week haha hopefully that lasts
> 
> also thhanks to everyone commenting in general i Thrive off comments and you guys are great hehe
> 
> in other news
> 
> not relevant to this particular chapter but i keep forgetting about byeol asdfhj;aksdf  
> its SUCh a problem at this rate theyre gonna leave her at the school lajskdflk help lmao

The naiads are unwilling to tell Yeosang much. 

_ “Reeks,”  _ they say, of the walled off area of land.  _ “Bad magic. Hostile magic.” _

He tries to get more out of them, but they scatter. He’s forced to give up when one of them kicks sand up into his face. 

_ “Hey,” _ one of them says as he leaves.  _ “Don’t go in there. Okay?” _

_ “I have to—” _

_ “It takes,”  _ she says. She gestures, as if to encompass something.  _ “It takes and it will not give back.” _

It’s not exactly a happy note to leave them on. 

The nymphs don’t want to talk to him, as he expected, so he turns to the Ocean. He slips into the water again and swims as far down river as he can before it gets shallow enough that people can see him. He gets out in a patch of brush and sneaks around various houses and farms towards the coast. 

It sings for him.

He hadn’t felt it, as much, when he left the airport in Boston, because Jongho had been in control. And in Taipei the magic of the city dampened the magic of the ocean. In Haven… he can only assume the ritual that kept him in place kept him complacent as well.

But here, he can hear It. It calls. It sings. 

Open water has lured many humans to their deaths, be it through curiosity or through love. That’s where sirens get their song, after all—the song of the Ocean. 

It gains strength as he nears. He breaks out into a run when he’s close enough and then soon he feels hot sand under his feet and tastes the salt in the air. 

Home.

Yeosang shakes himself, and triple checks there’s no one around. He can’t wear his clothes in like he did before, because he’ll be dropping the magic that lets him have legs, so he’ll have to strip. But it’s sort of a weird thing to do, isn’t it? To walk into the water naked?

_ Yeah I mean you could’ve bought a swimsuit and changed in a public bathroom. _

Oh, shut up. Hindsight is 20/20.

He quickly strips and takes the first step. Jongho makes a noise that might be a protest at the temperature, but Yeosang’s ectothermic, so his body heat adapts. He’ll be useless in a fight, because it really is cold and the lowering of his body temperature fucks over his muscles, but he’ll survive. 

He submerges easily, and allows the tide to take him out. His tail comes out naturally, glad to be in salt water once more, and he allows his glamor to completely drop. It’s nice to be back. It’s not truly home, not by a long stretch, but he hasn’t been able to swim in open salt water since he was trapped in the cellar, and it’s freeing in a way he hasn’t felt free in a while. 

The waters are unfamiliar to him. He’s spent most of his time in the Pacific—the western Pacific, specifically—so the Atlantic is new territory. He does pass a few great whites—they recognize him as somewhat of a threat so don’t try to eat or provoke him—and some other smaller sharks, and a few whales. Thankfully he doesn’t encounter an orca. He’s only seen one before, and it had taken all four of his choir to get it to back off and stop trying to eat them. 

Mer tend to live with their choirs, and while those choirs don’t typically answer to each other, they do answer to whichever choir is highest ranking in the area. The governing system is… weird. It’s technically a monarchy, but there are multiple unrelated princes that each take care of an area, and it’s technically hereditary… Yeosang doesn’t really have time to get into that now. 

He remembers this area from stories Changbin told them. They’ve never really had any conflict with any of the Korean area sectors, so talking with them should go relatively smoothly. 

_ Don’t jinx it. _

There are a few ways to spot mer settlements. Yeosang recognizes coral formations pretty quickly, following those signs until he finds seaweed planted in such a way that looks unintentional, but is, in reality, very much intentional. 

_ “Who are you?” _

No hostility, thankfully, but a lot of suspicion. The voice comes from inside the weed. 

_ “I’m Yeosang. I’m from Korea.” _

_ “Clan?” _

_ “Seo.” _

Rustling. The voice murmurs something to someone else.  _ “One moment.” _

It takes more than a moment, but Yeosang doesn’t quite know the process of vetting a mer’s origin story. 

_ “Come.” _

He follows the voice, brushing hesitantly against the seaweed before deeming it safe. Sometimes mer weave in eel carcasses, the underwater version of an electric fence. But that doesn’t seem to be the case here. 

Yeosang misses mer settlements, sometimes. Like he told San, he wasn’t especially close to his choir but they were, to an extent, family, and chosen family at that. Found family? Not the blood bonds humankind insist on, anyway. If they’d stayed in their settlement they would have lived together, formed community with the others. Surface livers don’t do that, not in the same way, and Yeosang doesn’t begrudge the decision—he was part of it, after all, he, too, wanted to live on land—but he does regret it, sometimes. It would’ve been so much less complicated to live in the sea. So much fewer lines to keep track of, to not tread on the sensibilities of non-mer. 

“Hi!” He’s startled out of his thoughts by the voice, Korean, thankfully, and in front of him is a mer with long grey hair. “I’m Alexa.” 

The mer that had led him here have vanished, but Alexa seems friendly enough. “Yeosang.”

She nods. “All the way from Korea, huh?”

“I took a plane.”

Alexa finds this funny, for some reason. 

_ Don’t think about it too hard. _

I feel like I should be insulted. 

“What brings you here?” she asks.

“There’s a school on the land near here,” Yeosang says. “They claim to ‘help’ magic kids. I’m looking for information on it, but—”

“Dryads aren’t helpful and naiads are superstitious, yeah.” She squints upwards, like she’ll be able to see all the way over to Molton if she tries hard enough. “Why are you asking about that school?”

“My friend’s determined to help the kids,” Yeosang says. “If I can do anything to help, I will.”

“I don’t think those kids can be helped,” Alexa says. “The school is a leech. It takes from them. It’ll take from you, if you get close enough. If your friend is magic, it’s taking from him, too.” 

With San’s parents involved in the place, Yeosang doubts they’d let that happen, but he’ll keep those cards to himself. “How is it leeching?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Alexa says. “I only know what the naiads tell me, and they don’t tell me much. I don’t swim in the rivers.” Then what use was coming all the way out here? He tries not to let the frustration show on his face, but she must see it anyway, because before he can respond she’s shaking her head. “I can tell you there’s something bigger going on. People keep looking at the school. Some people are important and some aren’t and some want to intervene and some just want to watch. But there’s spectating happening, on the level of a fucking Superbowl. It’s like they’re waiting for some cornered animal to make its first move.” 

Yeosang doesn’t bother asking what a ‘Superbowl’ is.

_ Sports. _

Yeah, I don’t care.

_ Thought so. _

“Anyone particularly notable?” He asks instead. 

“I assume you don’t care about the Americans, so… from Korea, the Choi family,” she says immediately. But he already knew that. “Some of their associates. Other hunters whose names I didn’t bother to remember. Jackson Wang. Hirai Momo. Han.”

“Han’s watching?” Yeosang asks, surprised. Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised, since he does need to keep an eye on what’s happening in the rest of the world, for personal reasons, but still. It’s probably not a good sign that he’s watching this school, here, specifically. 

More signs pointing to another machine. Mimicking Haven’s.

“Has been for a while,” Alexa says. 

Maybe it’s just a coincidence. 

_ Hopefully. Doubtful, but hopefully. _

Yeah… 

“Thank you,” Yeosang says. “That helps. Really.”

“Before you go,” Alexa interrupts, grabbing onto his wrist. He lets her, because he isn’t so far divorced from mer society that he doesn’t remember how touch-friendly they are. “I’m good at reading, um, auras I guess? When was the last time you gave to the Ocean?”

A long, long time ago. “It’s been a while,” he admits. “Do you have a place…?” He never gave formally, because Changbin wanted to leave before any of that started to happen. Wanted to give them choices. He gives a bit of himself with every shift, all of them do, but that’s just natural, part of being mer. Giving at a place of what humans might consider worship is entirely different.

“Yeah,” she says. “You’re welcome to it. In fact, I’m actively encouraging you to please go there because you look like you need it.”

“Just say I look like shit,” Yeosang says dryly. “I can take it.”

She shrugs, sheepish. 

* * *

The Cave is nothing like he imagined it’d be. 

Truthfully, he was picturing some dark, bottomless pit, the kind you’d think anglerfish would reside in. The kind of inky dark that even shark mer stay away from, because the Ocean is benevolent and the Ocean loves them but It loves Its stranger creations just as much and Yeosang, for one, is unwilling to go toe-to-toe with a giant squid, much less any of the weirder stuff he’s glimpsed. 

Mer barely know past what humans know. It’s embarrassing, but also, mer understand the Ocean for what It is, and respect It, so maybe humans’ willingness to destroy in search of knowledge is what gives them a fin up to match the mer. 

But that’s all irrelevant, because the Cave turns out to be made mostly of coral. The entrance is vaguely triangular shaped and definitely a cave, but it’s in shallow water, shallow enough that there’s still light. 

He enters the cave with some trepidation, because Alexa had made it out to be this big thing, but it honestly doesn’t seem that bad…? 

Inside the cave stands a single plastic chair. 

Huh.

It’s clearly a remnant from human trash, though whether the thrown-into-ocean part was on purpose or not remains to be seen. 

“Offer something,” Alexa had told him on the swim over. “Not material things. Whatever you give is up to you, but you need to give something.”

He doesn’t have much to give, but the place is spiritual, so maybe memories will work. Levanter—Han’s shop—takes memories as payment over money, so he’s had experience with this kind of thing. Contrary to popular expectation, that doesn’t mean he loses the memory. Happy memories usually generate enough serotonin that the brain can kick up the rate of magic production as well, so sharing the memory just means giving over what is essentially a temporary source of fuel. Or, to be more accurate, a multiplier on magic production speed. 

Then’s the matter of choosing the memory. 

_ Surfing, _ Jongho suggests.  _ That one weekend my parents left town… we decided to go surfing. Because it’s so out in the open that we could never have done it with them there.  _

And the other town residents wouldn’t tell. Most of them hated the family, and the Songs were charmed enough by Jongho that even they wouldn’t say anything.

They’d gone for ice cream after, still breathless and damp and giggling. Yeosang had faked falling just to use the leverage the water gave him to yank Jongho down with him. They’d lost the boards until a very exasperated Wooyoung cornered them at the ice cream shop, dragging their boards behind him. 

_ He came at us and said ‘no littering, bitch,’ dropped the boards in front of us and stole your ice cream. _

It’s definitely a good memory. Yeosang puts it forward, reaches out, and waits.

He’s about to decide that the Cave is bullshit and he’s wasting his time when some of the coral pulses once, twice, and his limbs go lax, and he can just barely in the back of his mind hear Jongho’s tinny voice starting to yell, panicked, as his eyes slide shut and he drifts.

* * *

**Here.**

Yeosang squints open his eyes, to find himself standing back on the cliff in Haven. Across from him is San, but… it’s not San.

San smiles at him.  **No, I’m not him. But you find his form pleasing, so I took it.**

He’s not gonna unpack that right now. 

He can’t hear Jongho, which is unnerving, but he assumes not-San had something to do with that. 

**Ocean,** they insist, tilting their head.  **Your kind call me Ocean.**

Oh.

Okay. 

This is fine.

“Where are we?” He asks. 

**Your head.**

Yeosang grimaces. He’d thought so. “Why are we here? Respectfully.”

**Usually your kind only need as much healing as I can do on my own. But you… your case is special.**

They come close, stroke a hand down the side of Yeosang’s face almost lovingly. As lovingly as a presumably-primordial being can be, anyway. Yeosang lets them, lets them cup his chin. “Special how?”

The Ocean doesn’t answer for a moment.  **I’m not sure.**

That can’t be good. 

Yeosang had assumed Alexa had wanted him to go to the cave to heal some leftover trauma from being stuck in a cellar for fifty years. While not usual, he assumes the Ocean wouldn’t have trouble dealing with that. This sounds different. 

**If I attempt to unfold the layers in your mind, it would break.**

“I don’t want that,” Yeosang blurts, startled. 

The Ocean snorts.  **Of course you don’t want that. I brought you here so I could take a closer look at what happened.**

“And?”

The Ocean tilts their head.  **Mm. It looks like it’s been folded over in attempt to protect you. Whoever did it is on your side.** They touch Yeosang’s temple, frowning.  **You are not missing time, but you appear to be missing memories.**

“What?” What does that even mean? 

**Your timeline is intact,** the Ocean says.  **Every moment of your existence is accounted for. This normally means you aren’t missing memories.**

Normally. But his case is special. “But you just said I am missing memories.” Time warping? That shit is hard to do though… not to mention dangerous and highly frowned upon by most magical society. Time warping  _ and  _ memory manipulation is even worse.

Most people don’t remember iterations, when someone fucks with time. People like Han might, if they’re powerful enough to register that kind of shift in continuum, but most people don’t remember, and there isn’t any indication in their minds that there  _ are _ things missing because there  _ aren’t. _ They just, for lack of a better word, reset. Like loading a save in a game. 

But sometimes there’s awareness. 

**There is no finesse,** the Ocean says.  **Like it was done in a hurry.**

That doesn’t bode well. “Can you recover the memories?”

**No. And you shouldn’t attempt to.**

“If something’s going to go wrong I want to know.” 

The Ocean frowns.  **You’ve never gotten this far.**

Never means more than one. He’s gone back in time more than once.  _ He’s gone back in time more than once,  _ and  _ this _ is the furthest he’s gotten past whatever it was that prompted someone to start… maybe looping? Is he looping alone? 

...Is San looping with him? 

What San was seeing, that time when Yeosang had reached out, magically, in an attempt to help. He saw himself. San’s parents were going to kill him. 

Maybe they were right to run. Maybe Hongjoong’s right and they shouldn’t go back.

“What will happen if I remember?” Yeosang asks. 

The Ocean considers it.  **Your mind can’t comprehend nonlinear events. You’ll have two different memories for the same time and if you aren’t properly equipped your brain will break.**

Ah. Sounds fun. 

**Wean yourself into it,** the Ocean advises. They look at him, inquisitively.  **It might be important. There aren’t many instances Time lets itself be folded this much. They have their reasons, and those reasons never bode well for mortals.**

Time, Yeosang knows, is one of the oldest of what could possibly be classified as primordials. Time is the measurement against which most other lifespans are weighed, but what meaning does it have to say Time was born—was created, emerged,  _ became— _ at the beginning of time?

“It’s a true fold then?”

Folding, not warping. Warping is one thing—events not yet set in place, yet not much changes… the sort of non-linear adjustments made where the adjustments are being made at the same time as the original timeline. Folding is unexpected. An actual jump. Going back and rewriting time because time didn’t have the foresight to see it happen.

A blip in fate.

**It’s a true fold,** the Ocean confirms.  **Seven times.**

Seven. That’s unfathomable. 

**Someone’s been busy,** the Ocean says.  **Be careful.**

“Of course,” Yeosang says. 

The Ocean regards him, seeming to consider something. It’s weird, seeing that look on San’s face. San is inexpressive, maybe to a fault, able to hide what he’s feeling inordinately well. If Yeosang had to guess, from context, he’d say San’s upbringing didn’t  _ allow _ for weaknesses like expression, and he maybe extrapolated on that to the point where he’s completely unreadable. The Ocean, it seems, hasn’t given a thought to their physical form, as they practically broadcast their thoughts. 

**You are mine,** they say.  **Usually I don’t closely mind what’s mine… but what’s happened to you is… interesting. I’ll be watching you, Kang Yeosang.**

That’s not creepy at all.

**You can begin to unravel the folds by pressing into your memories of the hunter’s spawn,** the Ocean continues.  **I have no bearing on the outcome of this conflict** **—** **the waters of this planet will still be here no matter what happens. But I think I’d be lonely without what’s mine.**

“I’ll do my best,” Yeosang says, hoping he’s not agreeing to anything too drastic. 

**See that you do.**

Yeosang wants to ask—he’s not sure what he wants to ask, but he wants to ask—but he’s too late, as the Ocean tilts their head, blinks their dull eyes slowly, and the cliff scene begins to fade.

* * *

_ What the HELL was that? _

“Jongho,” Yeosang groans, rubbing his head. He’s floating at the top of the cave, coral sticking uncomfortably into his back. “What…?”

_ I was gonna take control and drag you to shore but I wasn’t sure if it would revert you back to human form. And with you not responding I wasn’t going to take that risk.  _

Oh.

_ Now explain. _

“It was the Ocean,” Yeosang says, still mostly dazed. He explains on the way out, pausing at the village to thank Alexa for her help. He’s told Jongho about the Ocean as an entity before, but he hadn’t ever met them, so everything else about it was new. 

_ Weird how helpful they were. _

I gave up payment, technically. 

_ Still. _

Yeah. Still.

He’s just leaving the beach when Jongho suddenly yelps out a warning, too late, and something impacts with his head and his vision goes black.

* * *

_ Don’t move. _

Yeosang obliges, keeping his breathing even so if his assailant is still there she won’t be able to tell he’s awake. 

_ I saw a little bit. She drove us somewhere. _

She?

_ I think we’re back near Molton. _

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck.

Yeosang squints open his eyes. 

“Hey there,” the woman says, and Yeosang frowns at her because she looks  _ really _ familiar. Long nails, brassy blonde hair. She’s more tan than most Koreans Yeosang knows. But still. Familiar. Her ears are protected, too, he can see the magic swirling around them. Song won’t work. “Sorry about this.”

_ Wow. She looks soooooo sorry. _

What the hell is happening.

_ From the plane, remember? _

Oh. The woman he sat next to? What are the chances… 

_ I know. _

“Do you work for the family?” Yeosang manages. She must’ve tracked him onto the plane, if that’s the case. Maybe working with the man he saw at the airport. 

She laughs. Her voice is all kinds of raspy, Yeosang’s throat aches in sympathy. “The Chois? Hell no.  _ You’re _ the one all cozy with their latest fledgeling.”

_ She saw you together then. Probably in town. _

Yeah, I got that.

“He’s not like the others,” Yeosang says, feeling a little stupid as he says it. He sounds kind of like the main character of a coming of age book claiming she’s not like other girls. “He wants to help, he’s not a hunter, he hasn’t hurt anyone.”

“I don’t really care about that. He doesn’t matter to me.” She crouches so she’s eye level with him. “I want in to the school. And you, baby siren, are going to get me there.”

Oh, for fuck's sake.

“I can’t even get  _ myself _ into the school,” Yeosang hisses. 

“That sounds like a problem for you.” She pats his cheek. “You’ve got the insider. Figure it out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im actually like. very close to done writing entirely. i have some gaps to fill but. its been a wild ride! aaaaaaaaa i thhink ill miss it when im done but i already have sequel and prequel stuff started lmao


	10. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which machines are explored and plans are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um i might be upping the chapter count by a few lmao it... got away from me... 
> 
> cw torture mention? its sort of offhand. and like. faking it, not actually having been tortured. mention of murder+legal proceedings for murder. mention of battle/war/fighting

“Alright,” Eric says. He gestures for them to follow. “If anyone catches us, you specifically asked to see this.”

They walk down a few dozen hallways, outside a few times, down paths San hasn’t really seen and into buildings they haven’t ventured inside yet. Eric has to use a key a few times, and a keypad another. Strangely, after a point, they stop passing people. There weren’t many people outside in the first place because classes are still going on, but not many still means a few. The lack of people towards the end is just eerie. 

Eventually, they arrive outside an innocuous door, same as the others in the hall they stand in, and Eric does something with the lock before it swings open. “I’m technically not allowed in,” he says offhand. San glimpses a thin piece of metal that might be a lockpick before it disappears back into his pocket. “But you should get a closer look.”

Huh.

It looks like a computer lab. Normal, like it belongs in a school. But it’s clearly their destination, because there’s nowhere else to go from here and Eric’s booting up a computer. 

Every other computer in the room boots up as well. 

San has a bad feeling about this. 

“It’s a farm, isn’t it.” 

The words come out before he can process them, and Eric’s turning slowly to face him, grim expression set in his face. That’s all the answer San needs. 

“A farm?” Wooyoung repeats. 

There’s a map on the walls, San notes. It’s a map of the school. As the computers turn on, slowly, the map lights up too. 

Just like in Haven. 

“The principal said this is a chain,” San says. “A chain of schools, all over the globe.” He feels sick to his stomach.

Eric pulls up a file on the monitor he originally turned on. “They have a list of sibling schools.”

It’s a long list. 

“What did you mean, a farm?” Wooyoung repeats. 

It’s what they were doing in Haven. Skimming everyone Yeosang could pick up on in all of South Korea. This is smaller scale, more concentrated, more intense. No wonder most of the kids are tired and suspicious. They’re being drained. Literally. Drained of all their magic, all their  _ energy _ , until there’s barely any of it left to sustain themselves. Eric explains this, but San’s only half listening, picking up a bit of what he said about teacher exemption, and the built in repellant from the Choi family. Skimming with conditions. 

Then, in Haven Yeosang was powering the spell/machines, but here…? 

“—recycle the energy, so the kids are powering their own magic collector,” Eric’s saying when San tunes back in. “Whatever they did to hook that up is too convoluted. I tried to look through the set up but honestly…” He shakes his head. “The good thing is that there’s a permanent eavesdropping ward on this room. Probably to keep evidence from circulating if there’s a mole.”

“I’d take a look if I thought I could help,” San says. “But I know nothing about this kind of thing.” 

Well, he knows about computers. Just not magic computers. 

Then, of course, it’s been going all too well so far, so there’s a noise behind them, and they all tense.

“What are you doing in here?”

Shit.

“You’re not allowed in here,” the man at the door says, looking at Eric, then San. He doesn’t seem to notice Wooyoung. That, or he doesn’t think he’s important, which turns out to be his downfall because the moment he starts reaching for his pocket—weapon or phone, San doesn’t know—Wooyoung lashes out, clamping down on the back of his neck with a grip that looks like it hurts, and tugging him close so that he can press his lips to the shell of the man’s ear. He speaks, voice rumbling low and tugging deep in San’s gut, but the words aren’t meant for him and he can barely hear them anyway, so he resists, plugging his ears after a moment just in case. Eric doesn’t have such luck, it seems, stepping forward almost in a trance. San sacrifices an ear to tug him back, pushing him none too gently into a chair and keeping him there with a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

The man at the door turns and walks—glides, rather—back down the hall and out of sight. The look on his face is blank. Blank and dead. If San were anyone else, he’d suspect the horror of it would haunt his nightmares. 

“He won’t remember,” Wooyoung says. Eric has stopped struggling, now that Wooyoung isn’t doing his… thing, and San lets his hand fall limp. “He thinks he checked in to find the room empty and secure.”

And San is, then, reminded of why he’d thought sirens were so fucking terrifying. 

The man was a puppet, for that moment, empty headed, unable to think, only able to listen to the tug on his strings, and San has kept such a tight leash on his entire existence that loss of control goes beyond fear, for him. Beyond terror. 

But it’s reasonable, he thinks, to fear something like that. 

“You really trust him, huh,” Eric says, looking between them. It’s unclear who he’s asking, but San and Wooyoung exchange a glance. No, they don’t like each other. They barely know each other. But Yeosang trusts them both, and they’ve both done enough to warrant trust from the other in a situation like this—thrown across the globe, no one else but the two of them. Anywhere else and San would be, metaphorically speaking, running screaming. But this situation doesn’t afford him that. Not without implicating Wooyoung and abandoning all of the kids. 

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, when San doesn’t speak up. There’s an edge to his voice, and San grimaces. “We’re working on it.”

“Okay,” Eric says. “My friends are coming to visit me on Wednesday.”

“Your friends?” What relevance…? 

“My school friends,” Eric says, meaningfully. Very meaningfully. “They’ll visit me here.”

The gates don’t open Wednesday. And San doubts Eric’s alum friends are the kind of people who  _ like _ this place. 

He’d said this was a bad week to visit. 

San sees the realization hit Wooyoung just a moment before he comes to the same conclusion.

They’re staging a coup.

And there’s no way he and Wooyoung can avoid it.

* * *

The two issues their dubiously named rebellion seems to face are: keeping the students safe, and destroying the machine. Wooyoung and San, despite San’s vague knowledge of computers and, specifically, his family’s leech computers, can’t figure the thing out any more than Eric can, so Eric mutters something about sticking to the original plan of overloading the thing somehow. Wooyoung doesn’t comment but as they leave he looks as if he’s sucked on a particularly tart lemon. 

“They don’t have enough magic for that,” he explains, later, when he and San sit down in their room and talk options. “They’re human. Your family’s your family. They don’t stand a chance overloading that thing.”

“Could you help?” San asks. 

“No,” Wooyoung says. “My magic won’t be enough either.”

Maybe they can just throw the administration out, deal with the machine after. 

“They’ll send reinforcements,” Wooyoung says. “This isn’t just a coup. It isn’t a battle. This is going to start a war.”

So. Dominos. Eric and friends stage a coup, start a fight, administration cracks down. Actual battle happens, in all likelihood, and from there, unless San and Wooyoung manage to escape through whatever entry Eric’s friends make, they’ll be expected to fight. They can’t teleport, because, as Wooyoung hypothesizes, they only actually made it inside by virtue of the pure magical backlash, and they can’t replicate that without repercussion. Like everyone’s been saying, teleportation from inside to outside is impossible. San’s not the exception they think he is.

If they make it out and the administration wins, the administration will wonder why San didn’t help them, and report back to his parents. If they make it out and Eric and co win, they’re safe. If they don’t make it out and the administration wins, the administration will want to call San’s parents to report back. If they don’t make it out and Eric and co win, some of Eric’s friends might not be happy to see San and a further fight could break out.

Whatever happens, news of the coup will get back to his parents eventually, and like Wooyoung said, it’ll start a war. 

_ Their _ best bet—what benefits them, specifically, the most—is to try to leave. 

But what about the kids? Are either of them willing to leave behind the kids? What happens if, worst case, the administration wins? What will they do to the kids?

“This is a school,” San had said, hushed despite the warding of the computer room. “As horrible a school as it is, there are kids here. What the hell are you planning to do about that?”

“We have an exit plan,” Eric told him. “There are a few kinks to work out but it’s a good plan.”

A good plan is not a great plan. A good plan is not a guarantee. 

“We can’t get caught in this,” Wooyoung tells him, picking at the sheets. “We need to figure out how to help Haven. I’m behind you on the idea of helping the kids but we can’t get caught up in this battle. When I was younger I’d choose  _ every _ hill to die on, okay, I understand where you’re coming from, I do, but we can’t pick this fight.”

But San’s gathered more pieces, now, he has a bigger picture. The machine farms for magic, just like the one in Korea. He’s willing to bet that the other schools are farms as well. All this magic, all these schools, and for what?

The machine here was implemented in the 1970’s, according to Eric. They’ve updated it since, but the school’s run on one since then. That would be  _ after _ Yeosang was forced to run the machines in the Choi house basement. So. This isn’t just a side project, like San had considered. 

His family’s hoarding magic. Yeosang had been a test. This…  _ this _ is what came of that test. 

But why?

He needs more information. 

“Every hill, huh,” San says, eventually, not expecting a response. 

Wooyoung snorts. “Oh yeah. From Changbin wanting to run off with a strange warlock he’d known for a day to Yeosang thinking chicken’s better than beef to Jongho—” his face twists. 

Right. 

Jongho.

Jongho’s gonna kill him for this. 

“He was haunting me,” San says. 

Wooyoung’s head jerks up. “What?”

“He’s buried on the grounds,” San says. “His spirit walked freely. What did you think I bound Yeosang to?”

Wooyoung just stares at him. 

“I don’t know why he didn’t move on. He said something about an impure spirit. And unfinished business.” San shrugs a shoulder. “He didn’t want me to tell anyone that he’s still around.”

The noise Wooyoung lets out is somewhere between a groan and a whine, and he slumps down into the wall, squinting at the ceiling. “So he really was ignoring my summoning attempts.”

“Yeah. He said you would’ve noticed he wasn’t truly passed on.”

“I hate that.” Wooyoung flings his arms out. “Tell him I’m mad at him.”

“He’s with Yeosang,” San reminds him.

Wooyoung sits up abruptly. “Wait. He’s a spirit, he can theoretically do magic?”

“I… guess?”

“We need him,” Wooyoung says urgently. “This could… their plan could actually work. This could actually work. Jongho wasn’t the best at spells and formal stuff but there was one thing he  _ was _ good at and that is redirection and absorption.” 

He’d done it before, San recalls. With the sniper. Absorbing the magic. “So… if he builds up enough magic…”

“If he builds up enough magic he can overload the machine.” Wooyoung frowns. “Well. Assuming he can figure out how to direct it down the path it’s absorbing from… it should work.”

“That’s one problem solved, then,” San says. “But now the question is, how the hell do we get them in here?”

They don’t have a way to contact them. 

Well. 

Technically.

“What do you think would happen if we tried to summon him?” San asks. 

Wooyoung blinks once, twice. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah. That might work. We can’t bring him into the machine room like that—the wards—but if he’s tied to Yeosang, Yeosang should be able to bring him in. He might have a bit of trouble doing the redirection while being the passive party in a possession but—”

San nods. “So we just need Yeosang to get here.”

Ritual magic shouldn’t be picked up by the thing, according to Wooyoung. After dinner, he drops his dining hall sandwich—expressly made for this purpose—onto the floor and San inches away from the mayo splatter. Because there’s nothing special about today—no special moon, no thinning between realms, or whatever event Wooyoung started muttering about under his breath—there’s more to it than what Wooyoung did on Chuseok. He doesn’t really let San see, but he does something with chalk and something with some kind of leaves, and when he turns around triumphantly, both chalk and leaves are gone. “Okay,” he says, stepping aside. “Blood and family Name are still important, so if you could…” He hands over a knife. San wonders where the hell he got it and decides he doesn’t want to know. 

Wooyoung directs him to drip the blood onto the floor a bit to the left of the sandwich, and San says Jongho’s Name again. The magic takes hold.

And nothing happens.

“Maybe he really does just hate me,” Wooyoung says, but San shakes his head. 

“I told him about you,” he tells the air. 

Jongho sighs. “Of course you did.”

He doesn’t fade any more into their view, but San can still feel him there, tangibly. He’s listening. 

“First of all, fuck you,” Wooyoung begins, heated, and San doesn’t even bother trying to get him to calm down because honestly… he did tell Jongho this would happen. 

“We need Yeosang to get over here by Wednesday,” San says, and takes the opportunity their startled pause affords him to sum up what’s happened to Jongho.

“Wooyoung says you’re good at directing magic,” San finishes. “We need you to overload the machine.”

Jongho’s quiet. “So Yeosang was right. He thought there may be a machine here.” 

“Yeah,” San says. He’s a little surprised Yeosang’s managed to gather that much from outside, but he supposes that out of all of them he does have the most experience with it. “There is.”

“Okay. Yeosang’s in a little bit of… trouble, I guess. He’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. There’s nothing you can do, anyway.”

They are stuck inside. So. He’s right. 

“If you can’t find us when you get here, look for Eric,” San adds. Just in case.

“I’ll try to get him here, but I don’t know if I can.” He knocks the sandwich over. At least San thinks he does. Maybe the wind knocked it over. “Ew, what the hell?”

It’s literally just bread and mayo. San snorts. “That’s nasty.”

“Maybe if you weren’t being a headass for sixty years you’d get better offerings,” Wooyoung says snidely. 

“Oh my god,” San wheezes. Wooyoung cracks a smile and Jongho makes offended ghost noises in the background. 

“This is stupid,” Jongho says sulkily. He complains about it throughout the rest of their explanation, and by the time he leaves the bread’s been torn into many little pieces, out of boredom maybe, not a single one of which he consumes. He parts with a warning that he probably won’t be able to do this again, that being away from Yeosang for too long has already taken its toll, but hopefully that’s fine. 

It’s one problem taken care of. 

Now onto the issue of the kids. 

* * *

Wooyoung and Byeol like each other about as much as any cat likes any dog, and vice versa. Though honestly it’s like Wooyoung’s the cat and Byeol’s the dog because Byeol thinks he’s fascinating but Wooyoung wants  _ nothing  _ to do with her. He’d found her cute the first day or so, yeah, but he’d grown bored quickly and is, ironically, much more of a dog person. 

It probably doesn’t help that Byeol has nothing to do and is trapped in the room all day because San really doesn’t trust the school and doesn’t want her accidentally wandering into a death trap or something.

“Just let her sit next to you,” San says, exasperated, as Wooyoung stands once more to move to another part of the room, abandoning the living motor beside him. They’ve been sitting in their room waiting for classes to finish so they can talk to Eric without interruption. “She’s not hurting you.”

“I don’t like cats,” Wooyoung says petulantly. 

San groans. 

They’ve gotten used to each other, reluctantly. San can’t say they’re friends—no, they’re still far from that. But they’re used to each other and have the wary familiarity of anyone cornered in an enemy-of-my-enemy situation. 

“Why did you go?” Wooyoung asks abruptly.

San looks up from his halfhearted doodle. “Huh?”

“To Haven.” Wooyoung’s hand rests in Byeol’s fur, despite his protests. He’s been writing all day, loose sheets of paper, each of which he folds and sticks in his shoe when he’s covered it. He has a half-finished sheet now, words scrawled in runes San doesn’t recognize. “You haven’t given me the truth yet.” 

San doesn’t think he’s even told Yeosang the truth, yet. “Does it matter, at this point?”

“Yes,” Wooyoung says. “You showed up and then your parents followed less than a month after, despite having stayed away for years. Something happened that made you go, and whatever it is made them go too, no? Something happened, and I’d like to know what.”

Maybe. That’s part of what San still needs to figure out. 

He went to Haven because his family’s always been weird about their property there. He had the opportunity to actually go through with it because his parents tied themselves up with legal issues. 

Those issues… 

San’s aunt was sick and they were on their way to visit her in the hospital. San was on campus. He couldn’t make the trip. He was upset, initially, because they wouldn’t tell him what happened, just to focus on his schoolwork. (She ended up passing away, but the news was lost in the other events of the day.) 

His parents’ story was that their taxi driver recognized them and, as the losing party of one of their cases, tried to take revenge. Kyuwon acted fast and strangled him, and Dahye finished it off, in an attempt to stop him from struggling, by breaking his nose in a way that shoved the bone and cartilage up his skull and into his brain. 

Now… it’s possible that’s really what happened, sure, but San doubts that’s the case.

Regardless, at the time, San was kept out of contact with them, and told to lawyer up. Luckily he was on first name basis with Taehyung, his current lawyer, but that’s a long story he doesn’t want to get into. 

“My parents got stuck with second-degree murder charges and they and the rest of the family weren’t allowed contact with me and my sister,” San says. “I took the opportunity to investigate the place they talk so weirdly about. My lawyer’s keeping my sister away and he wouldn’t give me up, so I think actually getting charged with something just shook them enough they decided to go back.  _ Why _ returning to Haven was their move of choice is a different question, and I’m not sure of the answer myself.”

Wooyoung whistles. “Second-degree…”

“Not premeditated, but intentional.”

“I know what second-degree murder is.”

San half expects him to follow that up with “I’ve committed it”, but he just continues scratching Byeol’s chin. Enough silence goes by that San feels comfortable changing the topic. “So… how did you meet Jongho?” 

Wooyoung makes a face. “Oh. That’s a story. You should ask Yeosang, really. It’s very involved.”

San snorts. “Alright then.” But it’s a companionable silence, from then out, and Wooyoung lets Byeol sit on his lap.

_ Character development, _ San thinks, only a little bit sarcastic.  _ We love to see it. _

* * *

Eric’s happy to hear the news about Jongho, of course. They stress multiple times that they can’t guarantee anything, but it’s a better plan than he had, which was to just try and do it himself. 

“The plan is to break the wall,” Eric tells them. “I have someone—her name’s Jessi—she’s going to look for another way in, but we don’t have a way to communicate until she gets here, so I won’t know if she’s successful until then.”

“But you have a rendezvous point,” Wooyoung clarifies. “You’ll know when she gets in?”

They do. Eric explains, bare-bones, what they were planning. Eric was going to try to figure out the machine alone while everyone else tried to win the actual fight. “It was the best we could do,” he tells them, defensive. “We couldn’t leave another generation of kids to this. We had to come up with  _ something.” _

Now, they have a little more. Hopefully it’s enough. 

They’re in his classroom, and he has the eavesdropping ward back up, because the administration trust the teachers—yes, even him—enough to never check in on that space. 

And speaking of teachers—“They won’t have to fight,” Eric says. “We can give them a choice after, if we win. Depending on how kind or cruel they were.”

And then after, San and Wooyoung can slip away. 

They can’t guarantee help if the administration wins. And it pains San to say that, but it has to be said—he and Wooyoung (and Yeosang, especially) can’t afford to get caught. The last thing San wants is for his parents to find them. Right now they don’t even know where he is. 

He’d gotten a phone call from his mom, the day he’d visited the town. He hadn’t picked up, of course, but it’d startled him so bad he just stared at the screen blankly and let it ring. Just,  _ Mom,  _ at the top of the screen. Accept or decline. 

A few more had come in after that, enough that he just set his phone to do-not-disturb and kept it in his pocket, determinedly not checking it, but not letting it die either. 

_ Sannie, this is important, _ his father had texted.  _ Pick up the phone. _

Luckily for him, according to Wooyoung magic and cell networks are about as friendly as oil and water, and it’s impossible to track him down that way. 

He digresses. The plan is almost functioning, and they just need to come up with something to protect the kids—they can’t devote enough people to keep up a bubble from the alumni they have.

“It should take four,” Wooyoung argues.

Eric shakes his head. “No. Four normal magic users, maybe, but—look, we don’t know what that thing does, not really. We know it farms while we’re students, but graduation was… none of us ever got back to our full ability even after we left. It’s what they advertise, right? ‘Curing’ us? Whatever they do to achieve that, it works. It works really well. We’re weak. I don’t know if any of us alumni will ever get it back. But that means it’ll take way,  _ way _ more than four of us to achieve what four normal magic users can do.”

Wooyoung sits back, and they stew in silence. San traces the cracks in the wood of the desk he’s sitting at with the pads of his fingers, considers their options. 

Eric tenses, and then exhales loudly. “You can come out now.”

San, startled, braces for a confrontation but instead, four teenagers tumble out of the supply closet. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eric says sternly. 

They’re all ruffled, and there’s red high on their cheeks like they’re embarrassed at being caught. Jae’s delighted, but the other three at least have the decency to appear at least a little sheepish. 

“We want to help,” Jamie says stubbornly, folding her arms. “You said you need something to protect the younger kids, right?”

Eric’s protest of “you  _ are _ the younger kids” goes ignored. 

“We can make a shield bubble,” Ashley says. “We’re really good at it. It’s like the only thing we can do but we can do it well.”

“Yeah,” BM agrees. “Remember when the principal got stuck out of her office because someone warded the thing?”

Eric’s eye twitches. “That was you?”

“It was me,” Ashley says. “And it was a bubble, not a ward. I was mad because she gave Matty a punishment that day and he was crying.” BM reaches over and squeezes her hand. 

“And I found out,” Jae says proudly. “And I suggested we become like Voltron and all do tiny mini shield bubbles and then mesh ‘em together.” 

Eric sits down heavily. “I need a drink,” he mutters. 

“I don’t like the idea of them in the field any more than you do,” Wooyoung says, consideringly. “But do we really have a choice?”

No. They don’t. They have a very limited number of options. 

“Some of our friends can fight,” Jamie adds. “We’ve seen them. They’re good.”

“No. I’m drawing the line there,” Eric says, making a slashing motion for emphasis. “The four of you can make the bubble if—” he raises his voice over their cheering— “IF you stay on the other side from the fighting. I don’t want to have to worry about defending all four of you, and I want all of your focus on the shields. The  _ moment _ you feel the bubble going down, you  _ find _ me, and you  _ tell  _ me. And you won’t let any of your classmates onto the field. Okay?”

“You can’t exactly stop us,” Jae says diplomatically. “If we’re controlling the bubble, we can exclude some of our best fighters.”

Eric groans. “If I have to tie every single one of you kids to your beds, I will.” 

The back and forth goes on for several minutes before Eric raises a hand. “I’m not arguing this anymore. And all of you, go to bed, you have class at 8am tomorrow.” 

They grumble as they go, but at least they don’t argue. 

“You’re a little too young to be a dad,” San teases.

“Don’t remind me,” Eric says. “Every night I count the grey hairs they’ve given me.” He sighs. “It works, though, doesn’t it? If their barrier actually stays steady… and Ashley’s took almost all of the staff to take down. If that was her alone, the combination of all four of them… I think it could work.”

“We should test it,” Wooyoung says. “But yeah. If their barrier’s good, that’s the last thing done.” 

“And then we need a messenger to get a paper to Jessi,” Eric says. “I can use spelled paper, so we can communicate… but she needs the location of the machine, so she knows where to keep them away from.”

“And we have to make sure the bubble keeps the machine on the fighting side,” San adds. “Because otherwise we won’t be able to help.”

“Ah, yeah, because you’ll be so much help,” Wooyoung says, poking his side. 

San bats his hand away, pouting. “Okay, fine, otherwise you two won’t be much help.”

They end up reconvening at lunch the next day. They eavesdrop-proof the room and, if anyone drops by sensing copious amounts of magic, since the kids’ incantation is so blunt and raw San can just say he was stretching his metaphorical legs a bit. If the magic was more sharpened and refined, a skilled person could figure out what exactly it’s been used to do. Something like this, though… Wooyoung wryly volunteers to pretend to have been tortured. None of them but him find it particularly funny. 

“It’s perfect,” Wooyoung says gleefully, bodily slamming the shield. His magic pulses and attacks again, but it holds up. Doesn’t even shake. None of the kids look affected. 

“You’ll have to be far from each other,” Eric tells them, one last deterrent. “The bubble will be big. You’ll have to space out evenly to get the best distribution of magic.”

“That’s fine,” Jae says. “We do a pretty good low-level mind link.”

“Of course you do,” Eric says, looking like he’s aged ten years from that comment alone. “Of course.”

And then it’s settled. The kids will make the barrier, Eric, San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho will break the machines, and Jessi and her allies will draw attention away from the school so that they can work.

Eric still demands they not let any of their friends through, capable fighters or not, but they just shrug in a way that says, “I’m gonna pretend I’m listening but I’ll really just do what I want."

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eric says grimly, holding open the door for them to exit. “Bright and early.”

“It’ll work,” San says. 

Eric nods. “It has to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if my computer actually manages to cooperate ill be uploading another one v soon after this one... smh
> 
> or possibly two  
> we'll see how i feel


	11. yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which yeosang does some soul searching, jongho is repeatedly a basketball, and a battle begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jessi scenes are awkward im s o r ry idk how to write her?? esp with yeosang. like its a weird combination. but i needed a person idk
> 
> cw described but not named panic attack. mildly descriptive battle scenes. mention of temporary mcd (in flashback).  
> ^added temp mcd tag

_ What are you doing? _

Yeosang mentally swats at the basketball that is how his mind chooses to represent Choi Jongho’s presence. 

I’m meditating. 

_ Love that for you. Meditating while being held captive. _

Yeosang doesn’t even twitch. 

Jongho sighs. 

When he’d disappeared, Yeosang had panicked, nearly yelling himself hoarse to try and get the woman to  _ listen, _ but her auditory blocking spell is good. Too good. And then Jongho had come back and he’d quieted down and she’d finally given him some water, so that was nice of her, he supposes. 

It was nice to have his suspicions confirmed, though. There is a machine in that school. 

He’s just not sure how effective he’ll be getting there. 

_ I think you’re my tether, now, _ Jongho says. He’s been turning over ideas as to how he was able to be pulled away from Yeosang, despite the ritual bond that’s there between them. It was a one time thing, both of them know that. The elasticity’s completely gone now. But the fact that he was able to leave at all is strange.  _ Y’know. I leave a piece of me behind with you when I’m pulled somewhere else. _

Yeosang sighs in frustration, opening his eyes to glare at the ceiling, because it’s just  _ not working. _ Especially with Jongho. Talking. Constantly. And not. Shutting. Up.

_ What are you trying to do? _

This is the opposite of shutting up.

_ I’m bored. _

I can tell.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries, as best as he can, to broadcast the vague idea of what he wants.

_ Oh. _

Yeah. So he kind of needs to concentrate. 

Jongho doesn’t reply, and Yeosang feels a twinge of guilt, but he really does need to pull himself into his mindscape. So he takes the opportunity, and he breathes. 

The mind is a strange, strange thing.

He opens his eyes, and he’s back in his bedroom, from before everything happened. It’s not real, he knows that, but he’s spent literal decades forcing his mindscape to adhere to what it was before he experienced any form of trauma, in an attempt to keep himself sane. So.

There’s a big 8 hanging on the wall, facing the bed. He sits up.

The number there should signify, for lack of a better word, notifications. So the last time he was here there were eight things he wanted to remember. Theoretically it should trigger recollection in him—mental association of the picture to the concept. But nothing’s tickling his attention.

Or, maybe, something’s just important about the number. 

_ Seven folds. _

Seven folds means eight repetitions. He’s on the eighth. Maybe… 

He slips out of bed, because sitting there won’t do him any good. Nothing else grabs his attention. 

Outside the room, the house is quiet in the way it never was, before. Living with Wooyoung was always exciting. It’s eerie to be here, and to have it be… still. 

During his time in the cellar Yoesang would never leave his bedroom, as it was the most comforting place in his head, so he hasn’t maintained any of the outside at all and it shows. There are cobwebs everywhere, dust so thick when he runs a finger over a table it comes off black. It’ll take time to comb through this part of his mind, and he doesn’t think he has that time. 

San wouldn’t be here, anyway. 

He lingers, though. Brushes clean a picture frame or two. Wooyoung, Yeonjun, Changbin, and him at the beach. Him and Jongho curled into each other like cats. Memories. Good memories. 

He finds Jongho’s presence in the back of his closet. A basketball. It’s unassuming—just a normal basketball, unlike the basketball that speaks from the back of his head when he’s out and present in the physical world. Ultimately he leaves it be. 

Traveling from their house to the Choi land should take longer than it does, but. Well. This is his mind, so he can bend meta space if he wants to. He lands in the same place he’d stood with the Ocean, looking at the water. Looking at the house. All his memories with San will be in there. 

Except. 

_ Press into your memories of the hunter’s spawn. _

What had he seen? Blood, yes. The beach. 

He steps forward, as close to the edge as he dares, and looks down. He can’t see to the sand or the water, at first. Fog has rolled in, blanketing the space beyond the cliff, churning lazily, cotton candy in appearance but holding a heavier weight. A curtain. 

There was a knife, he recalls. Three people, other than him. San. San’s parents. 

He’d been on the rock.

He knows what that rock is used for, he’s not completely ignorant to the Choi family’s… tendencies. He’d watched, once, even. Changbin held him back from trying to intervene. They wouldn’t have been able to help. They’d just stumbled upon the scene. 

Jongho was never initiated. Yeosang spent a week after that running from him, anyway, despite Jongho’s clear reluctance to chase. Yeosang couldn’t look him in the eyes without feeling bile rise in his throat, burning acrid at the back of his mouth. Jongho gave him time, though. Waited for him to stop running. Heard him out. 

_ I’m sorry, _ Jongho had said, like it meant anything. Like it’d bring the murdered mer back to life. Like he could’ve done anything to stop it. He didn’t choose his family, Yeosang knows that. Yeosang knows that too well, now.

He can picture himself in the mer’s position. Maybe too easily. His tail was out, by San’s memory. Likely chafing on the dry and warm rock. Chained with spelled iron, like what held him in the cellar. 

The fog has started to recede. He wonders if it’s there for a reason. If it’s protecting him. 

But he needs to know. 

_ This is what happens to freaks. _

_ Do you want this for yourself, San? _

_ I’msorryi’msorryi’msorryyeosangi’msorryitriediloveyoui’msorryi’msorry— _

_ We just want what’s best for you. _

_ NO! _

Yes. 

On the rock.

There’s a sharp pain in his temple, dull pain in his abdomen. But he can see himself. 

What San saw that day—Yeosang has that memory too. 

Bad ending. 

Yeosang looks away before he can see the end, because he  _ knows _ that end, now. He can feel it. He feels it as his ribcage twinges in phantom pain. He feels it as his face becomes numb. His body aches.

(And by the Ocean does it hurt.)

But that’s not helpful. 

What happened that led them there? 

Where did they go wrong?

* * *

He sits in Jongho’s (San’s) room. 

And he presses.

_ Hard. _

At first it doesn’t yield anything. 

He’s aiming for the closeness he feels, the familiarity.  _ Who were they, in the first seven folds? _

But he’s plagued with thoughts of what he saw outside and it’s probably messing up his concentration—

“Stop thinking,” Yeosang says, muffled into the space under San’s jaw. San doesn’t respond, but everything sharpens, becomes  _ more, _ and Yeosang breathes him in, keeps him close and  _ feels. _ The feeling of presence around him, on top of him, almost suffocating,  _ would  _ be suffocating if it was anyone else. San grounds him when it feels as if he could float away at any moment, and he knows that in turn San holds him to keep tethered. Yeosang’s fingers trace the nape of San’s neck, he presses his nails hard enough into his skin that it leaves behind white lines in the shape of protective runes. Protective, possessive.  _ Keep, _ they say.  _ Mine. Don’t touch. Consequences. _ He tightens his grip on San’s hair and the world moves around them but they stay the same. Stagnant. Static. 

Still.

Yeosang breathes and he’s in Cap’s, in the back, and it’s just him and San and he’s moving before he registers he’s moving, taking San by surprise and shoving him into a wall and he can’t even tell if it’s in anger or in—

Him and San, running down a deserted road, laughing, far from Haven. Together. He looks at him and feels  _ warm. _ He’s worried—he’s always worried—but he’s happy to be here, with San. 

He hears news that makes him scream, scream, SCREAM until his lungs feel like deflated balloons, like he’s been pricked by a needle and everything comes out with a woosh. Dahye’s ears bleed but that doesn’t deter her and San stands by her, frowning but not regretful. He’s uncertain. He’s young. He’s the same age as he’s been the entire time Yeosang’s known him but Yeosang knows, without knowing, that this San is young. This San does’t understand, not yet. 

And he’s on the rock. 

He’s with San, again, but this time he’s lying on top of him and is pressing his hands into his chest and it feels like he’s trying to dig into San’s heart, staring him in the eyes and breathing shallowly, and everything’s so much—the sheets are rough on his skin and San’s chest rises and falls and he can  _ feel _ San’s heart beat and wants to keep it with him, keep it  _ safe,  _ because Yeosang has so much  _ dread, _ like he knows something’s wrong but he  _ can’t remember what _ and San sits up but it fades again and—

He’s helpless, as San is consumed by a brilliant, brilliant white light. 

Once.

Twice.

Thrice. 

_ Sorry, _ San whispers, the third time, wry smile like he knew this would happen. And Yeosang can’t do anything at all, frozen, forced to just stand there and watch.

* * *

He brings himself out of his mindscape slowly.

The woman’s nowhere to be seen, and he blinks drowsily, clearing up the fog in his eyes. He’s being kept in a house or an apartment, at least, not a basement or anything. That’s probably the only reason he hasn’t freaked out entirely.

_ You okay? _

Was I…?

_ You didn’t do anything weird. But I could feel your distress. _

He swallows, throat clicking. 

I’m fine.

Yeosang doesn’t know how to process any of it. He pulled back from the onslaught before it could get too much—the Ocean had said to ease into it, so he will. Letting it go on would be… 

He got the sense—not out of any tangible memory but the emotions that hit him like a tidal wave, slamming into him so fast his head spins. He got the sense that there was something, something more. He’s drawn to San like the waves to the moon, pull too strong to resist. His heart hurts. He can almost feel him, to the East. Not in a magical way. Just a connection. 

Interpersonal ties are more than magic. Greater than magic. Love, sure, love is a strong motivator, no matter the kind, but there’s other things too. Hate. Understanding. Passion. Annoyance. Yeosang’s not cynical—he’s not the kind of person to say love is weak, or love will get you nowhere. He knows better. Love is a powerful force. Still—it unnerves him. No one can control what they feel, not really. Sometimes you fall into something you never intended. 

I’m not in love, he’d told Jongho. But I could be.

How long has he been lying to himself?

He doesn’t think—he can’t know for sure, since he doesn’t remember—he doesn’t think that he’s ever told San. He’s fairly certain that some of the iterations—most of the iterations—all the iterations but that one horrible, horrible one where San stands behind his parents—his feelings are returned. But he never says anything and neither does San. 

_ Yeosang? _

Do you know about the iterations?

Jongho quiets.  _...Somewhat. I’m more aware than the living, but I don’t remember past events like you do. Or like San does. I just have… intuition, I guess.  _

What happens? What causes the loops?

_ I don’t know. _

Jongho… 

_ I really don’t. I can guess, but I don’t know for sure.  _

There goes that lead. 

Whatever happened to cause the iterations, he needs to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Him being at the center is important. Him and San. There’s something they’re doing that’s not right and they need to make sure they do it right, but… 

But. 

I’m sorry for snapping, Yeosang says, before the guilt eats him alive.

Jongho laughs.  _ I know. It’s okay. I know you. You’re just stressed. _

The woman returns then, setting another water bottle down in front of him. He was never physically restrained, only tied to the room, so he has no problem snatching it up. He hesitates before drinking, but she sees, and the room heats a few degrees. Intentional.

Sweat drips down his temple.

He drinks the water. 

“I really can’t do anything for you,” he says. “Believe me.”

“I’d like to,” she says, sitting on the chair by the bed. He wonders why she let him have a bed, but he supposes she doesn’t really have an issue with him. She just needs to get into the school.

_ Ask if she knows Eric. _

Eric?

_ I don’t know. Maybe she’s trying to get to the same person we are. _

Since when do we know an Eric?

_ San told me to find Eric if we can’t find him or Wooyoung. _

“You’re not, uh,” Yeosang starts. “You’re not trying to reach someone named Eric, are you?”

She stares at him, unblinking. “Why?”

“He’s my, um. Alternative contact?” Yeosang winces. “Apparently San’s working with him now, so. I’m supposed to get in to help them break a machine.”

She stares at him for a moment longer. “Jessi.”

“What?”

“My name’s Jessi.” She sighs. “He wouldn’t give himself away to just anyone, so I guess... But I’m not letting you go until we get inside.” 

“Thanks,” Yeosang says drily. “I’m Yeosang.”

Jessi, it turns out, is actually pretty nice. She’s still a little standoffish but, honestly, that’s understandable. He doesn’t give her details about himself and she doesn’t give him details about herself, but she asks him what he wants for dinner this time instead of just giving him subpar pizza, and they eat bland Chinese takeout together in silence. 

“People are looking for you,” she says abruptly, setting down her container. “Hunters. I think the right term would be vassals under the Choi family.”

Yeosang winces. “They won’t find me here, will they?”

“No,” she says, something on her face that Yeosang can’t read. “They won’t even get close.”

_ This is weird, _ Jongho says, when she leaves him in the room again, reluctantly saying goodnight. 

Yeah. It’s weird. But he’ll take it over the vaguely threatening glares from before. 

* * *

He doesn’t manage to uncover much more in the days that he has. To be fair, less than a week is a short amount of time and seven past iterations of memories are a lot of memories. 

Still. The first day was the majority of the progress. After that, his memories stay stubbornly buried. 

Jessi spends most of the time out, probably organizing for whatever plans their revolution has. Jongho didn’t manage to get much detail from San, but Yeosang figures they must have numbers somewhere because trying to take down a school that is, likely, high up on the Choi family’s priority list, isn’t exactly a five (six, counting Jongho) person job. Much less a two person job. 

So Yeosang meditates. 

He’s intimately familiar with his own mind, more than most, despite spending the majority of his time alone sitting in his bedroom solving puzzles he proposes to himself, rewatching memories when he feels particularly nostalgic. Only specific memories. Too happy, and he’ll be too upset when he returns to reality. He picked and chose. 

Regardless. His mind is familiar to him. He manipulates it well. All his memories are available to him except those hidden by time folds. 

He’ll crack it eventually. 

He replays the one glimpse he’d seen that had felt  _ good _ —him and San running along a road—hoping that maybe it’ll trigger something in him. Maybe he’ll feel the warmth again, maybe that warmth will make him remember more. He’d replay some of the others but the horrible iteration scares him a little and the cuddling scares him more. Because it had felt… it was platonic, probably. Definitely. But it still felt…  _ more.  _

And that scares him.

He has a complete relationship built up with someone that he functionally  _ does not know _ and it drastically affects their view of each other and that  _ scares _ him. Maybe he’ll try those memories soon if the warmth really leads him nowhere, but still. He’d like to avoid that if possible.

And then there’s the white light. 

San had died, those times around. He knows that without knowing. 

Yeosang doesn’t want to revisit those memories at all. 

* * *

On Wednesday, according to the digital clock on the nightstand, Jessi returns, and it’s different than every other time. 

“Today,” She tells him, tossing something at him. He fumbles on the catch but manages not to drop it. It’s another bottle of water. “We’re leaving now.”

She breaks the spell that keeps him there (startlingly simple, for the power it held. He’d prodded at it but hadn’t managed to crack it. If he was truly determined he could’ve done it but she’ll lead him to Molton anyway, and hey, it’s a free bedroom) and holds out her hand. He takes it and he can feel the wind rush by as she transports them back to Molton. “What are you?” He asks once they’re arrived, trying to place the magic. Her way of traveling is very very unique. He hadn’t asked, before, and she hadn’t offered, but if she was willing to show him that then maybe she’ll tell him the truth.

“Unimportant,” she dismisses, pulling him to the side, behind a cluster of trees. “We’re waiting for the signal.” 

The town is out of sight, as they’re right at the foot of the walls, which loom ominously. They’re concrete, Yeosang thinks, and there’s wire on top that sizzles like it’s electric. There’s no one nearby that Jessi could be waiting with, but depending on what she is, maybe she’s just the one woman cavalry. 

He has an idea. But he’s not sure. 

“What’s the signal?” He whispers. 

“You’ll see.”

* * *

He does see. 

“That was dramatic,” Yeosang observes, following Jessi as she steps over the rubble that was once the wall. She just laughs over her shoulder. 

The explosion had drawn out others from where they’d been hiding. Yeosang sees a few un-camoflage, at least two crawl out of the ground, and one memorable woman who was waiting as a bird.

Most, though, like him and Jessi, just step out of the shade the forest affords them. They’re armed mostly with knives and swords. Which makes sense—guns react negatively to magic exposure.

But seeing them, seeing their determination, just makes this real. This is something that’s actually happening. Years of the family’s terrorization of the supernatural community and  _ here, now _ is the  _ first  _ time a revolt has been outright.

Yeosang’s a shark. He’s never been a pacifist. Maybe some other person would wonder if this could be solved without knives and weapons, with words and treaties and alliances, but Yeosang knows better. Whatever the family’s doing, they won’t stop. Especially not for a rag-tag group of their trampled victims. 

“Jessi?”

Jessi finds the voice quicker than Yeosang. “Hey, kid. Eric send you?”

“Yeah. I’m Ashley,” she says. She’s quiet. She’s wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants. She looks like she’d startle from the wind gusting a little too hard. 

She’s a kid. 

_ My family forced her into this world,  _ Jongho says quietly.  _ Her and every other kid in this school. Remember that, if anyone says their movement is too violent and asks why you helped them.  _

“Hi, Ashley.” Jessi reaches over and offers a hand. Ashley takes it, and Jessi helps her down from her perch in the tucked away corner. Aside from the little structure she’s hiding in and the wall, there’s only forest all around. No discernible change from outside. It’s weird. “Do you have something for me?”

She nods, and hands Jessi a little slip of paper. “I have to go back.”

“Good luck,” Jessi says.

Ashley turns back and runs through the field, leaving the rest of them standing at the ruined wall. 

“Coordinates,” Jessi tells him, then repeats the same in English to the others. “Eric and his allies have the machine. We’re tasked with keeping the administration’s attention outwards instead of inwards so they can get in and out without being noticed. We didn’t manage to alert all the kids out of worry that some of them would squeal, but our number one priority is keeping them safe, got it?” She turns back to Yeosang. “You’re supposed to meet them, yeah? The main building’s that way.” 

“Thank you,” he tells her. “And good luck.”

She nods to him curtly, and he bows to the rest of them. They all smile or nod back and he takes a moment to look at them, memorize them. Memorably, they all just look tired. Tired but determined. He wonders if he’ll ever see any of them again. He wonders if they’ll all make it out.

And with that, he dives into the forest. 

He makes it halfway when a nasty alarm sounds, screeching and screeching. Roars, in the distance, and screams that he can barely hear over the screeching. 

_ They’re certainly distracting. _

Yeah, no shit.

By the time he gets to the school they’re up in arms, alarmed shouting as the adults scramble to put themselves in a position to defend the school.

Any ideas on how to get in?

_ My family got involved here after I died,  _ Jongho says.  _ I don’t know anything about this place. _

Unfortunate.

He picks a fairly heavily guarded area, makes sure everyone’s within earshot. 

Ready?

_ Yup. _

_ “Why,”  _ Yeosang begins.  _ “Why am I afraid…”  _

He doesn’t  _ technically _ need to sing to activate the Song, but it helps, for long term. So the people in the area turn his way immediately, but the Song washes over them soon enough and their eyes glaze over. He runs, when he’s sure it’s completely taken hold. They’ll forget him when he leaves their earshot, as he pushes that will into the Song. Jongho draws their magic towards him, quick and sloppy and not at all the refinement Yeosang knows he can have. It’s not desperation, but maybe just brute forcing what should be an elegant solution in order to be faster. Because they can’t afford to stop and wait for him to be fancy about it. 

The Song makes it easy to walk unnoticed through the buildings, searching rooms for San and Wooyoung. It’s strangely abandoned, for a school. He only encounters a few more people, and the Song and Jongho make quick work of them.

“Yeosang, right?”

Yeosang jolts, Song dying at his lips. 

“I met you in town.” Jamie stands, alone, in the middle of the quad. He hadn’t noticed her purely because he hadn’t expected anyone to be just… standing there. “You’re friends with San.”

“I am,” he says. “And you did. What are you doing out here?”

She grins at him, sharp. “Waiting.”

“Waiting for?”

She gestures at the start of the forest in the distance, where the clamor’s getting louder. Dust rises, and soon enough they can see people.

She’s fifteen, Yeosang thinks. She shouldn’t be out here. She shouldn’t have to fight.

_ But she will. _

She raises her hands, bracing as if against a wall. 

_ And I doubt you could stop her. _

“San Eric and Wooyoung in the History building,” she tells him. “Behind that one. Big white bell tower on top. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” he says, giving one last glance at the nearing conflict. “And whatever you’re doing… good luck.”

She smiles. “Thanks.”

The fight reaches her just as he slips inside. He doesn’t turn to find out if she did what she meant to do.

It’s eerily quiet inside. His steps echo loudly on the marble floors, soles of his shoes squeaking. He doesn’t call out their names for fear of running into someone else.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering ominously, and he keeps walking, quiet as he can, on guard. 

“Who are you?” 

Yeosang lashes out, nearly catching the person who spoke, but she’s too quick, wrapping something around his throat and  _ pulling.  _ He chokes, and the magic takes hold and he  _ can’t speak. _

He’s back in the cellar. 

His knees hit the floor, making an unpleasant crack, and he has something in over on his mouth uncomfortable in on his throat— She pulls and he’s hit with a pipe by a one-handed man snarling expletives at him she pulls and he’s on his back held down San stands over him with a knife he can’t breathe his vision blurs his head hurts— 

And then it loosens. 

He gasps and there are arms around him and he flinches away but San (it’s San? It has to be San. No knife. Just San) takes his face in his hands and tells him “breathe, Yeosang. With me.” And Yeosang’s hands are on San’s abdomen as he takes exaggerated breaths so Yeosang can feel them, and Yeosang can do that at least, so he does. 

In. 

And out. 

In.

And.

Out.

“Are you with me?” San asks, worried, and Yeosang focuses in on his face. 

“Yeah,” he says. His voice still sounds far away and he blinks in a way that probably looks sleepy, frowning at his hands because they don’t look like his hands, like he’s a step away. Stepped back out of his body. He’s creeping back in—if he blinks really hard at his hands they start to look like they’re his own again. 

San helps him up. 

It’s strange. 

He’s spent the past few days inside his mind, digging into specific memories with San at the forefront, but not this San. A specific version of him that doesn’t exist anymore—a version that loves him, that he loves back. A version that’s soft instead of wary, warm instead of the staticky panic San gives off when Yeosang gets too close. (Even when they were close, before. When Yeosang couldn’t sleep. San was almost too tired for it, but Yeosang could still taste his anxiety. It’s not on purpose, Yeosang knows. San’s right to be wary. His instincts must be going haywire. Because Yeosang’s a shark. He’s a Siren. His people eat humans, sometimes, and somewhere deep in San’s genetic code is a caveman ancestor screaming to get away from a predator’s yawning maw.)

(And yeah, there’s a little bit of trust, too, on both sides. Trust that comes from the past they don’t remember. But Yeosang doesn’t know if he wants to consider those feelings real or not.)

So it’s strange. Yeosang wants to get closer, wants to nose at San’s neck, ask him, with actions, to be closer. To be calm. To trust him.

But that’d be invasive. And humans don’t like teeth near their necks. 

And Yeosang has a lot of very, very sharp teeth.

So he refrains. His hand lingers in San’s and San looks at it, then him, eyebrows drawing together in question but Yeosang looks away before he can ask anything with any semblance of secrecy. 

A man Yeosang assumes is Eric is standing over the body of the woman who’d found him. She’s dead. Wooyoung’s there, too, looking down like he wants to tear out her throat, posthumously or not. “Hey,” Yeosang says, catching Wooyoung’s attention. He (lets go of San and pretends not to see San’s hand linger in the air) latches onto him tight, relieved. “You’re okay.”

_ “I’m _ okay?” Wooyoung whisper-yells. “You motherfucker, you weren’t moving, I thought she  _ killed _ you! All that work to get you the fuck out of Haven and I thought a fucking schoolteacher did you in, I was going to delve into necromancy to bring you back long enough to deck you in the fucking face!”

“No necromancy please,” Yeosang says, patting Wooyoung’s shoulder. He makes a strangled noise instead of responding. 

He and Wooyoung… they don’t express affection easily. He’s reminded of cats, honestly, with the whole, I’m next to you because you happen to be here not because I love you it’s just a coincidence, thing. They hug, they cuddle, but they don’t  _ talk. _ So he’s not surprised that Wooyoung opts to quietly hold his hand instead of saying anything further. 

“Jessi made it, then?” Eric asks, once it’s clear they’re done. 

“She did. The fight had reached Jamie by the time I came in here.”

Wooyoung and Eric exchange a glance. “Hopefully it held,” Eric says, looking longingly at the doors, clearly desperate to check. 

“What was she doing?”

“Making a barrier,” San explains lowly, as the two of them follow Eric and Wooyoung to the other end of the hall. He keeps his distance. Yeosang aches to pull him closer. Just to see. “She and her friends can make a really strong bubble. The kids who can’t fight are inside the bubble. We have an exit strategy but we couldn’t afford to move any of them before the fighting started.”

“Does Jongho have enough juice?” Wooyoung asks. They all pause and look at Yeosang, who blinks in surprise at being addressed.

_ Probably. Give me a second though. _

For what?

_ Doing some more collection. _

“Give him a second,” Yeosang relays. 

San snorts. “Should we twiddle our thumbs…?”

“I’d play jeopardy music but my nerves are shot to hell,” Eric says. “I don’t think I can do humor right now.”

_ Okay. I’m good. _

“He’s good,” Yeosang repeats. “And he thinks he’s charged up enough.”

_ For a given definition. _

What does that mean?

Jongho does the mental equivalent to a shrug. 

Eric leads them through a few pathways Yeosang probably should’ve been paying attention to but was not. He trusts that if Eric turns out to be not on their side, San or Wooyoung will be able to get them out. 

The computer room itself is underwhelming. 

“There usually isn’t backlash,” Yeosang says, mostly for Eric and San’s benefit, because he doesn’t know how well Wooyoung gets along with either of them, really, and if Wooyoung doesn’t like them, then he is absolutely not above keeping details to himself. “But with him not being in the driver’s seat we don’t know what to expect.”

“I trust you,” San says, which does nothing for Yeosang’s resolve to not latch onto him and not let go. 

Oh well. 

Have at it, he tells Jongho.

Nothing special happens visually, but Yeosang expected that. What he’s  _ not _ expecting is to suddenly be able to see, on some non-physical plane, the magic rush down a glowing tie. 

It’s beautiful.

_ Thanks. _

When Yeosang wields magic it’s nothing like this. He wonders if it’s unique to how a user visualizes, or maybe it’s a particular of dealing with raw, pure magic (which he himself never does). Or maybe it’s just Jongho.

_ The Choi family’s always been special, _ Jongho says. It only sounds a little sarcastic. 

It’s—Yeosang can’t even describe it to himself, in his head. It’s like aurora borealis gained the life and motion of lightning, compressed into a ball of string that unravels as he watches, shot down the line that leeches from Yeosang. 

And that’s something, too. The machine must not detect Jongho, because there’s no line to him. Yeosang can’t see any of the other lines, because it’s not really seeing and more being aware, but he’s fairly certain the thing is leeching off of every physically available presence. So Jongho has to push the magic  _ through Yeosang _ which is… it tickles, at first. 

And then it burns. 

It doesn’t hurt enough that Yeosang complains, it feels almost like eating something just a little above the cap of his spice tolerance, if his entire body felt what his tongue did. Jongho wraps around him soothingly, anyway. 

And then it’s over. 

So good news—overloading the machine with the magic Jongho’s gathered is easy. (He has, somehow, gathered a lot of magic. He mumbles something about ambient magic when Yeosang—Yeosang doesn’t ask. When Yeosang stares at the sheer amount in disbelief. He’s pretty sure if he tried to absorb that much it’d kill him on the way in. Safely transferring  _ that much _ without blowing stuff up takes… it takes a lot.)

The machine makes a snapping noise, and everything abruptly shuts off. 

“Oh,” Wooyoung says, frowning. “That’s weird.”

Yeosang agrees. He hadn’t noticed the effect of the leeching until it stopped, but he does feel more energized now. 

“As far as I know the collected magic is sent elsewhere,” Eric says, before any of them can suggest it. “We can look, but I doubt it’ll turn anything up.”

If Eric and co win, they deserve to keep it anyway, so among the three of them they decide to let it go.

Bad news—the fight’s gotten bad enough that they can hear it from where they are. 

“We need to help,” Wooyoung says, looking upwards, as if he could see to the ground floor. 

The fighting outside is an utter melee. Yeosang gets separated from the other three once, but then finds them again, then he and Wooyoung manage to stay together but they lose sight of San and Eric. It’s chaos. They’re lost in it, lost in where to go and what to do, as they dodge blasts and try their best to find San, because Yeosang, at least, knows that San is probably kind of helpless in a fight like this.

And that’s when it happens. 

In the middle of the quad, in an empty space, there’s a light, and then several people appear. Enough that you could probably call them a small army. 

_ Reinforcements. _

And there, at the head, is Choi Dahye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting close to the end... not Super close but... close.


	12. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which battle happens and it doesn't go as badly as they thought it would

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw violence, fighting. a lot of this chapter is a battle, so everything that comes with that, but NO graphic or non graphic description of any deaths of living beings, but some implied “deaths” of nonliving beings.

He loses Yeosang and Wooyoung.  _ How _ does he lose Yeosang and Wooyoung? He was keeping an eye on them the entire time, making sure to stay in step with them. 

Well, he does know. Eric disappeared on him first, and San lost focus to look for him, and by the time he turned back he was alone. 

He curses to himself, dodging magic and blades alike. (There are, for some reason, no guns. San wonders if it’s something to do with the amount of magic now saturating the battle field, as the sniper outside Haven had no qualms using a rifle. Or maybe magic can just all too easily fuck with the mechanics, and faults plus guns is not a good time for anyone involved.) At least Wooyoung and Yeosang can take care of themselves, they’re both entirely capable of self defense. He, on the other hand… 

Well, he  _ could _ kick someone but what good is that going to do against magic, exactly?

One of the kids (Eric’s gonna be  _ pissed) _ takes a metaphorical bullet for him when he freezes up. The kid walks it off, thankfully, but still. It’s bad. 

And it only gets worse. 

“CHOI DAHYE,” someone screams, and then there’s a whole lot more screaming as something  _ big and fucking reptilian _ rises from the battle. 

That’s a dragon.

That’s a fucking dragon. 

Holy shit. 

Also, his mother’s here. Which is bad. Very bad. San’s just not having a good day, haha. 

The dragon’s breathing fire, now. Scattering a whole bunch of people, most of whom, thankfully, are wearing his family crest on their clothes, meaning they’re on his family’s side (but not necessarily meaning they’re part of the family. It’s a whole thing. Sovereignty and vassals and stuff he didn’t pay attention to that he probably should have. It’s also how his family managed to have an entire mini-army gathered at Haven’s gates). He doesn’t see his mother but she must be somewhere, given the angry yelling of her name. And wherever she is, is where he shouldn’t be. 

San manages to hide behind a rock at some point with one of the alums. 

“Knife?” She offers, once he shows no sign of attacking her. 

He takes it, thanking her quietly, because he doesn’t know how to use it in a fight but a knife is better than no knife. “Who brought a fucking dragon?”

“That’s Jessi,” she says, bemused. “She’s really angry right now.”

“Huh.” Eric’s friend Jessi? Who thought Yeosang and (justifiably) San were working with San’s family? (Yeosang had caught him up to a few things. It was obvious there was more to whatever happened with the mer than what San was told, but he doesn’t push for now, since, you know. They’re in the middle of a literal battle.) “I thought all the alums are human.”

“Mostly,” she says. “Jessi was adopted into a human family. It was a whole thing.”

“Ah. Also. Sorry. Do you know where Choi Dahye is?”

She laughs humorously. “Thinking of taking her yourself?”

“More like avoiding,” San says, grimacing. 

“That’s fair. I think most of us want the same.” She looks, though, doing something slow with her hands and not moving her eyes at all. “On the balcony,” she says. “That building.”

Won’t be easy to avoid, that way.

“Hey.” She catches his arm before he goes. “Are you the one she’s looking for?”

“What?”

“She was looking for someone. A siren, I think.”

“My friend,” San says. She’s probably looking for Yeosang, not Wooyoung… hopefully they’re both okay. “I don’t know if she knows I’m with him.”

“Best not use magic then,” she says. “I heard Choi hunters can sniff out magic signatures like fucking bloodhounds. Runs in the family.”

Fuck. That’s a thought. He’ll have to ask Jongho about it. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He picks his way across the quad, because there’s really nothing he  _ can _ do but look for Yeosang and Wooyoung. He runs into a few kids he recognizes from Eric’s class (again, Eric’s gonna be pissed, but they’re taking better care of themselves in this fight than San is so he leaves them to their business), who all nod at him in acknowledgement and thankfully don’t try to fight him as revenge for his family’s actions. 

He trips over a few bodies, too. That’s  _ not _ fun. He doesn’t stop to check if they’re dead or just unconscious. 

“Jae,” he says, ducking into an enclave, relieved to have made it. “You doing good?”

“Peachy,” Jae says from the other side of the bubble. He rolls a shoulder, but isn’t too visibly tired. “You?”

“Lost Eric and Wooyoung,” San says. “And my mom’s here, so I can’t exactly do anything flashy to find them. If I could even use magic in the first place.”

“Um,” Jae says. “I’d look for you but I’m draining myself a little too much right now.”

“Yeah, I assumed. You haven’t seen them though?”

“Uh.” He squints vaguely in the direction San thinks BM is. “BM says Ash saw Wooyoung run by the English building like a minute ago.”

“Thank you,” San says, already looking for a clear path. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

The fight’s not slowing down. With the addition of whoever the hell his mother brought (when did their numbers increase by so much? And if they’re here, is anyone still at Haven?) the fight is sliding precariously in the administration’s favor. 

Jessi was a help, at first, before the two sides mixed, but now with the battle fully raging, she presumably can’t risk breathing fire in case she catches any of their side. Because  _ their _ numbers are limited and the school’s are, apparently, not. She—in dragon form—disappears, presumably back into human form to help on the ground. To her credit, San passes quite a few charred people. She must’ve gotten a lot in the first wave. 

“San!” 

Yeosang crashes into him and he flinches, startled both by the outburst and the proximity, but Wooyoung’s quick to drag them behind a tree. It won’t afford them much protection in the long run but it’s good enough for now. 

“Your mom,” Yeosang says. 

“I know. The balcony.” If San squints, he thinks he can see two figures up there. “Is that…” 

It must be Jessi because the first thing she does when she gets within range is open her mouth and exhale fire. Dahye, unfortunately, dodges. 

“That’s not going to go well,” San breathes. 

“I know.” Wooyoung tugs them, heading for the building. “Come on.” 

“We’ll be a hindrance,” Yeosang hisses, but he follows Wooyoung anyway. “We’re water and she’s fire.”

“This isn’t Avatar,” Wooyoung says. 

“Jongho said that too,” Yeosang says under his breath. Wooyoung doesn’t catch it. 

“You can hear him?” San asks.

Yeosang taps his temple. “He’s in my head.”

“Here,” Wooyoung interrupts, pulling both of them to the side, under a tree. If Dahye looks down, she’ll just see leaves, but they can see her. And San was right. 

It’s not going well. 

* * *

Dahye was never a perfect mother, but then again, who is? She spent most of her time at work, she never really was involved in San’s life beyond making sure he was getting good grades, but she never hurt him. Not really. 

It’s still horribly easy to reconcile that image of her with what side she’s showing right now. 

“Oh,” Yeosang winces as Dahye gets a particularly nasty blast in. “That’s… ow.”

Jessi doesn’t falter, though, pressing forward, getting Dahye precariously close to the edge. 

Their styles of fighting are very similar, San thinks, though he doesn’t know enough about magic to feel confident in that judgement. It seems both of them are more brute-force than subtle, maybe a result of no training on either side… reluctance to learn and trapped in the school respectively. One thing he does notice, though. 

Dahye doesn’t have enough raw power to keep up with Jessi.

But somehow… 

“She can fight,” Yeosang notes quietly. “Physically, I mean. Taekwondo?” 

“All of us have third degree black belts,” San says. 

Wooyoung and Yeosang turn to him, startled. “You what?” 

“Black belts,” San repeats. “In Taekwondo.” 

They both look at him in silence. “This is ridiculous,” Wooyoung grumbles, just as Yeosang says, “And you didn’t bring this up why?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant?” San gestures at the battle around them. “Magic beats Taekwondo just as easily as paper beats rock.” 

“That’s--”

“It’s important because your mother has a handle on her magic, and most human magic users don’t take into account physical attacks,” Wooyoung says. “I haven’t seen your parents in a fight, I assumed they’d be as useless on that side of things as your grandparents.” And Yeosang obviously hasn’t seen them fight either. 

“So that’s… bad?” 

Dahye’s managed to acquire a spear. Somehow. But Jessi’s doing… better than San would be, let’s just say that. 

“It’s not bad,” Wooyoung says, eyes still glued to the fight. “It just means if, worst case, we end up fighting her, it won’t be as simple as I expected. Not that I expected to beat her. Hunters are tricky.”

They all pull closer to the trunk of the tree as a stray bolt of magic rushes by, radiating heat. 

And then Jessi yells. 

They look up, to see her dangling half off the edge, her hold on something the only thing keeping her lower body from falling. Dahye stands over her, spear raised, and San panics because Jessi is, evidently, the  _ only _ one who can/will even get close to Dahye and she’s clearly powerful—more powerful than the other alumni, whose powers have all been muted. Maybe due to her not being human. Regardless, she’s clearly their powerhouse and  _ it can’t end here. _ She can’t die. 

“Shit,” Yeosang says, quietly, and Wooyoung makes a noise of agreement, reaching out to help. Magic builds at his fingertips and Dahye stiffens and turns their way.

_ Like bloodhounds. _

_ “No,” _ San whispers, and something burns inside him, searing his lungs, crawling up his throat.

“San, what are you--”

_ “Stop.” _

Everyone freezes. The battlefield is eerily silent, not a person moving a muscle. Even Yeosang and Wooyoung are frozen, Yeosang’s arm outstretched, face contorted in worry. Wooyoung’s still looking up. Magic frozen at his hands.

In contrast to all this, San continues to burn. It starts to hurt, really, really hurt, and his vision whites out for a few seconds before coming back, then repeating. Pulsing. 

And then Dahye moves. 

She straightens, looks around for the source. “Where are you?” She croons. “I can feel your power from here…” 

_“No,”_ San says, the word punched out of him, and if it comes out as more of a sob, at least no one can hear him. He shrinks back. “No, nonono--” She can’t find him she can’t find him she can’t. 

“Come out come out,” Dahye sings, and there’s no one to help him when she jumps down. To his shock, she doesn’t seem to notice him. When he looks down… he can’t see his hands. Or his legs. He’s… invisible? 

“C’mon, fishy.”

She doesn’t know it’s him. 

He almost collapses in relief, but he manages to stay standing on pure adrenaline. She thinks, somehow, that he’s Yeosang. (Or Wooyoung, but more likely Yeosang.)

She’s still looking for him, but if he’s invisible maybe he can get out of this somehow before she finds him… 

_ San. _

Jongho?

_ Push it down. _

What… 

_ We don’t have much time. You need to push it down. You can’t use magic, not like this. Push it back down. _

But--

It burns, it burns, it hurts so fucking MUCH. Why is this inside him? Why can’t he just let it go? Why can’t he let it out?

_ San, listen to me. PUSH IT DOWN. Lock it inside you. You CAN’T let this happen. Not now. _

How?

_ Imagine an open box. This box is the most intricate box you’ve ever seen. Okay? It has all the best locks and puzzles to keep it shut. Even you don’t know the passwords. Take the burning, and put it in the box. And then lock the box. Lock it, and forget how you locked it, and throw away the passwords and keys. Okay? _

He tries. There’s a box. It’s small, but intricate, and somehow… familiar. He holds the box. Inside, there’s a little spark. He wants to reach out and touch it, but he’s running out of time. 

He pushes the magic inside the box, and slams it closed. 

The burning stops. 

_ San, _ Jongho says, even more desperate now.  _ NO! _

And San remembers what it feels like to be consumed by the burning. It turns the world white around him, and he falls. 

Jongho’s not talking to him. Jongho’s in Yeosang’s head. There’s no way Jongho could have been talking to him. 

This is a memory. 

Dahye sweeps the quad with her own magic, and he jolts back into reality. 

Well. Some of it is a memory. 

As the last of the burning fades, people start to unfreeze, returning to battle as if they’d never left it. Dahye jolts, but is swallowed by the crowd, and Yeosang does a double take when San is, in his point of view, suddenly on the floor. “San?”

“I’m fine,” he says, breathless. He takes Yeosang’s offered hand and hoists himself up. “Just… disoriented.”

The box hadn’t looked very secure. It was cracking in places. Peeling. What once might’ve been a beautiful varnish was worn down, metal rusted, splintering. 

Light seeping through the cracks. 

It’s not secure, but it’ll have to work for now.

Hopefully that won’t need to happen again. 

Dahye rises from the battle, flying somehow, and Jessi launches herself off the deck and into both the air and dragon form, colliding with her. Dahye shrieks, but she doesn’t quite have teleportation down, clearly, as she can’t get away. She gets a stab in--Jessi roars--but then she dives back to the ground, and, surveying the place, and San finds himself unable to move as she looks him right in the eyes. 

"San?" Yeosang asks, frantic, and he realizes he's gone invisible again. 

Dahye makes a decision. 

She picks up something and says a word, and then vanishes. 

“She retreated,” Wooyoung breathes. The fighters she brought drop to the ground, unmoving, like puppets whose strings were cut. “She must’ve brought golems. Animated clay,” he clarifies, when San just stares at him blankly. “Not real people.”

With her and her golems out of the count, finishing the fight is easy. 

Too easy. 

Way too easy. 

Why did she retreat?

He doesn’t want to bring it up to anyone else because Yeosang and Wooyoung are so relieved, he doesn’t want to ruin that, and if it’s just him… he can handle a little paranoia.

“Lost you for a while,” Eric says, appearing at their sides once the victor is clear and the rest of the administration has surrendered. His face has some blood splatter, but it’s very clearly not his. “Are you three okay?”

“Fine,” San says weakly. “Little unnerved, but fine.”

“Are the kids…?” Wooyoung can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. 

“Accounted for,” Eric says. “All of them. They’re alive.” He laughs, breathless, and looks out over the field, where everyone is tending to each others’ injuries. “No casualties on either side, besides the golems. A couple of major injuries, but everyone’s alive.”

“That’s--” A miracle. So unlikely San can hardly believe it. 

“We’re lucky,” Eric says. “So, so lucky.”

That’s an understatement. 

“Thank you,” Eric adds. “Without you guys, we probably couldn’t have overloaded the machine. I’m not good at sensing magic but even I could see--” San gets it. It was a lot. Jongho channeled a  _ lot _ of magic into that thing.

“No problem,” Wooyoung says, grinning cheekily. “I’m glad we could help out. The kids didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s the least I can do,” San adds, bowing his head. “My family…” he shudders. “We’ll deal with them.”

“Cut it off at the root,” Eric agrees. 

“What’re you guys gonna do with this place?” Wooyoung asks, gesturing at the grounds. Other than the wall (demolished on one side) and the quad (trampled) and the one balcony (little bit crumbled from Jessi landing on it) the school’s mostly intact. 

“The kids have bad memories here,” Eric says. “I’d just leave it--I  _ want _ to leave it--but I’m worried the hunters will come back. I might camp out here. I think some of the kids will stick around with me--if I can’t convince them to go to normal school. I’m worried about… a lot of their parents won’t want them back. Or will just send them to another branch the minute they can. I doubt I’d win a custody battle… But we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about us.” 

“The other schools,” Wooyoung says, once Eric’s bid them goodbye and told them they’re welcome back anytime, then walked off to give Jae, Jamie, BM, and Ashley a big hug. “They’re still doing this.”

“Cut off a head and two more grow back,” Yeosang says. “We need to get back to Haven if we want to make any kind of difference.”

“I know,” Wooyoung says. “But I still…”

“We can help more of them later,” San promises. “But right now, Yeosang’s right. We need to get back to Haven. For this--for all this to stop--we have to stop my family. Not their minions.”

Yeosang clears his throat. “Hongjoong told me to keep you away. Because the--your family’s after anyone who knows anything about the skimming. But I haven’t been able to reach him since and I’m worried.” He looks away. “He contacted me right after we left. He was in the cellar.”

“The--” Wooyoung jolts, stepping back. “Where you were?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang says. 

What the hell happened? Isn’t his family supposed to have a treaty with the fae? 

“So we need to be careful,” Yeosang says. “With Hongjoong powering the skimmer…” 

“It’ll easily detect us.” Wooyoung tugs his hair. “Shit.”

“Levanter and Inception are warded,” Yeosang reminds him. “Even Hongjoong can’t see inside. If we teleport directly there--”

“Because our last teleportation attempt went really well,” San says. 

Wooyoung frowns. “Um.” He looks at San, then at Yeosang, then back. San wonders why, before realizing with a jolt that they’re leaning on each other, and Yeosang’s arm is around his waist, and San’s arm is around his shoulders. San tries to pull away but Yeosang just tightens his hold. “Hey,” Wooyoung says. He makes a motion, and says San’s Name.

It hooks. 

“Oh,” San says, surprised. 

Wooyoung looks at the two of them again, and the corner of his mouth twitches. San can’t tell if it wants to go up or down. “I think we’ll be fine.”

Yeosang squints at him. “What…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wooyoung dismisses. “Okay. Ready?”

“We should say goodbye to--”

On cue, Jae and Co. skid to a stop in front of them. “Hey,” Jae says. He’s holding Byeol and San’s backpack, and Byeol’s meowing loudly at him in protest but she isn’t struggling, so that’s something. Jae hands her off to Yeosang, who was the first to open his arms. She purrs at him and he coos right back and San struggles not to melt at the sight. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Even if I still don’t like you.” She points at San, who splutters in surprise at being called out. “Thanks.” 

Ashley and BM echo the sentiment. 

Jae looks at Wooyoung and Yeosang, then at San. “Can I talk to you?”

San frowns. “Me?”

Jae nods, and Wooyoung and Yeosang both seem to be at a loss, so San shrugs and lets Jae pull him aside. 

“I trusted you pretty quickly,” Jae says. “Don’t you want to know why?”

San could say a million things to that, but he chooses to just say, “why?”

Jae squints at him, but lets it go. “Fae can detect lies,” he says. “But you knew that, didn’t you.”

And yeah. San knows. He’d done copious research into fae, specifically, when he was on his supernatural research spree. He knows about fae and lying, about fae and bread, about fae and milk. Iron, too, but that’s a given.

Jae looks at him, though, something deeply knowing and unnerving. “My family forgot,” Jae tells him. “But I lived in rings when I was a kid. They just called out to me, y’know? They speak to me sometimes. The fae, I mean. So Wooyoung was right about fae descendants knowing…” He gives a cursory glance at Wooyoung and Yeosang, but they’re both preoccupied with BM gesturing enthusiastically at his own pecs. “They’re wary of you,” he says. “The fae. You scare them.”

What the hell has he done to scare the fae?

“Good luck,” Jae adds, raising his voice to normal volumes, and cheerfully glomping San. “You’re gonna win! Do it for us, okay?”

“Sure,” San says, still a little thrown off-kilter. He hugs Jae back and the younger boy giggles. 

“Okay,” Wooyoung says, exasperated, once they’ve detached Jae from San.  _ “Now _ are we ready?”

“Wait,” San says, and Wooyoung groans but he pulls out his phone, pulls up a contact, and stares at it. “I’m gonna call my mom.”

“Are you  _ insane--” _

“It sounds like she wants me in Haven,” San says. “She’s been calling me non-stop since we got out and I finally had cell service. If she wants me to go then maybe I can meet them and figure out what the hell is happening.”

Wooyoung scowls, but Yeosang’s already nodding. “It’s a good backup and you know it,” he tells him. 

“Fine,” Wooyoung says. _ “Fine.  _ But know that I don’t like it.”

“Yup,” San says, already dialing. “I can tell.”

It’s a weird dread, in his stomach, like he’s eaten something that only disagreed with him slightly. Not enough to puke, not enough for nausea, but… not comfortable. Just sitting. He doesn’t know how to feel.

Yes, he never thought his parents were good. Yes, he’s reevaluated his view on them several times in the past month. But still. He  _ knows _ them--at least he thinks he does--and all of this… it fits, in a way he wouldn’t like it to. And that’s disconcerting. And he doesn’t know if he can reconcile what he’s experienced to be right with what he knows to be true. 

_ “Sannie?” _

“Hi Mom,” he says, not bothering to keep the trepidation out of his voice. “Sorry for missing all your calls this week. My lawyer said--”

_ “Oh, fuck the lawyer. We aren’t guilty, we have a court ruling, you can see us now. Are you doing okay, Sannie?” _

Is he  _ doing okay. _ He’d be doing a lot more okay if his parents weren’t literal murderers and he wasn’t  _ on the run from them  _ in a foreign country.

“I’m alright,” he says, careful to keep his voice pitched low. “It’s been stressful.”

_ “Oh, I can imagine. Listen, would you mind taking a short break, baby? We’re at the house in Haven, remember you loved that place when we visited and you were a kid, and we’d really like to see you again.” _

“Oh, um, I have classes--”

_ “You can miss one or two, right? Just for the weekend, promise. We have a surprise for you!” _

“...If you’re sure?”

_ “I’m sure. We just miss you, Sannie.” _

He doesn’t ask about his sister. If they’re not intentionally excluding her he doesn’t want to draw their attention to her. “...I can get there in a couple days.”

_ “Oh, wonderful. 1117 Lorelei Drive, okay?” _

“Okay.”

_ “You might run into some trouble as you get closer, so try not to take the main road and get your taxi to drop you off some ways away. I’ll send you directions. You’ll lose cell signal but if you get lost we’ll find you, alright?” _

“Okay.” He hesitates. “See you, mom.”

_ “I’ll see you soon. Love you!” _

San hangs up. 

It’s disconcerting. He just saw her fight like it was nothing, saw the glee she took from striking down people, but then she just…  _ love you. _

“Ready,” San says, and Wooyoung nods.

Fuck if it feels like they’re going back to a war zone, but at this point what choice do they have? Out of the frying pan and into the fire. 

* * *

Wooyoung lands them, neatly, in the kitchen. Cap’s--Inception--is quiet, and dark. San wonders if it’s still in business, or maybe it’s closed due to--

Well. Due to his family. Due to the hunters. 

Has Han managed to hold up the borders? Kyuwon got in without them dropping. It’s possible Dahye did too. With the two of them inside, as long as the treaty holds, they can’t attack Han, right? But somehow Hongjoong ended up in the cellar. 

So.

“We need to get word to someone that we’re here,” Wooyoung says, slumping onto the ground. There’s no chairs in the kitchen, unfortunately, and none of them are willing to go out into the dining area. 

“A call would get picked up,” Yeosang says. “So would a ping. We can’t use magic to get anyone’s attention because it’ll draw theirs too.”

San looks at Byeol, who’s still in his arms, then up at him. “Can either of you talk to animals?”

“Why are you--oh.”

And then they’re all looking at Byeol, who continues to ignore them.

“I can tell her to find the place that smells like Wooyoung,” Yeosang says. “Yunho will be there, right? And if we give her something that says to come here--or she could lead him back--”

“She should lead him,” Wooyoung says. “If she gets intercepted--”

“Tell her to avoid my parents,” San says. “She did that anyway, when I was living with them, but might as well be sure.” And maybe that should’ve been a sign. Animals are a good judge of character and she was always, always wary of them. 

A few pieces of cold chicken filched from the fridge later, Byeol’s happily trotting out the door. 

“Okay,” Yeosang says, sitting with his back against the wall, a little ways away from Wooyoung. “And now we wait.”

“And now we wait,” San agrees. 

They wait for a while.

So long, in fact, that San starts to worry that she was intercepted, and his parents recognized her, and now they know he’s here. They’d taken off her tags just in case, but the collar’s still on, and his parents know his cat’s siamese, at least, so even if they don’t know they might suspect.

Yeosang and Wooyoung are talking quietly to each other, now, and he doesn’t want to interrupt but he’s lonely and itching for a hug and stressed. So he curls into a ball and just hopes Byeol’s okay.

“San.”

San looks up, and Yeosang’s inched closer. Wooyoung’s still slumped where he was originally, but now he’s pressing his palms to his eyes, face scrunched up in what might be concentration.

“Hi,” San says.

Yeosang snorts. “Yeah. Hi.” He leans back on the metal sheet San’s been leaning against, and frowns up at the ceiling. “She’s gonna be okay.”

“You can’t  _ know  _ that.”

“Your parents aren’t gonna be walking around town,” Yeosang says. He’s right. San’s parents are gonna be holed up in their house, doing dubious shit to the machine that does dubious shit to everyone in Korea. Still. San can’t help but to be worried. 

“How are you?” He asks, instead of elaborating on the Byeol thing. “With… After Jessi… being locked up again….”

“Oh,” Yeosang says, scrunching his nose. “It was fine. She had me in a hotel room. Not a dungeon.” He touches his neck. “I’m… not great with stuff on my neck, though, apparently.”

“Apparently,” San echoes, laugh thankfully getting caught in his throat and not bleeding into his voice. Because. 

When they found him--thank fuck they’d decided to wander the halls in case he got lost--when they found him San’s breath left his lungs and his vision went white and he felt… again, he felt what he felt with the sniper, and then again in the battle--but the battle was worse. Whatever it is he’s feeling. The battle was worse. 

When they found Yeosang, San saw white, but he pushed that down and back because he couldn’t be angry, not yet, not until they made sure Yeosang was okay--because that was his first priority. Getting Yeosang away. 

He moved but Wooyoung moved faster, grabbing the principal and yanking her back, not saying a word. It’d be a mercy, San thinks, to let her be a puppet as he killed her. She yelled in shock but Wooyoung dug nails into her wrist, forcing her to drop Yeosang, and kicked her legs out from under her. He paused, then, for a moment, staring blankly, and San kicked into gear at the sudden cease of movement, went to pick up Yeosang who wasn’t unconscious or dead, but still wasn't entirely there. He was breathing fast, though. San could feel his heart racing. 

_ In and out, _ San’d said, turning him to face him.  _ With me.  _

Soon enough Yeosang’s heart slowed and his breathing evened and he was blinking back into awareness. 

Panic attack. 

So, no.

Not good with stuff on his neck at all.

“Have you…” Yeosang hesitates. He lowers his voice, even though it’s highly unlikely Wooyoung’s trying to listen in. “Have you had any more… the vision you had…” 

Oh. He’d almost forgotten Yeosang had seen that. “No,” San says. “They stopped when we left Haven… well, there was--in the battle, something weird happened. But I don’t know if it’s the same thing.”

“Oh?”

San shrugs, uncomfortable. “Yeah.” He doesn’t elaborate, unsure of how to describe it. 

“I talked to the Ocean,” Yeosang says, giving San an out. “They’re… they’re sort of the embodiment of, well. Of the ocean. Primordial being type thing. Like death and life and time.”

San hadn’t known there were primordial beings for death and life and time and the ocean but he takes it in stride, nodding along. He’s gotten used to his worldview being altered every few days. 

“They said that time’s been folded,” Yeosang says. “I don’t know who or why but someone folded time--and for some reason, we both have memories of what happened in the other tries.” 

San pulls back, making an involuntary wounded noise. So the vision he’d seen of Yeosang--he’d died. He’d actually, actually, in real life died. 

What the hell. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Yeosang reaches out, placating. “It’s fine. Those runs were erased. They never happened.”

“But they did,” San says, taking Yeosang’s hand. He lets him. “They  _ happened _ , because we remember them happening.”

“Technically,” Yeosang starts, but San frowns at him. “Okay, sure. They impact the way we perceive people, so I guess, in a sense, they did happen.”

The way they perceive people.

Oh.

“That’s unnerving,” San says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. It explains… well it explains a lot. 

How he knew Yeosang for days when it felt like months. 

Feelings… the memories. 

He doesn’t think this answers any of his questions about the school or Haven or his parents or his own… whatever that was back at the battle. But it’s a sign of what could happen. That something happened that made someone decide to loop back. 

Something went wrong. 

“How many times?” San asks. 

Yeosang hesitates. There’s a weight to the silence, a weight to the way he dips forward like he wants to wrap himself around San like bubble wrap but keeps himself back because, well, they’ve cuddled, they’re spent time together, but how much of that is past them creeping in and how much is actually them?

“How many,” San repeats, heart dropping. How many bad endings did they hit? How many times did one of them die?

“Seven,” Yeosang says. 

Seven. 

Maybe not every fold ended with a death. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

“If you keep folding and forgetting,” Wooyoung says, speaking up from where San had honestly forgotten he was sitting, “what changes?”

Yeosang looks just as lost as San feels, but San thinks, vaguely, that there’s something to be noted in their ability to recognize, subconsciously, if not consciously. 

When he’d first met Wooyoung. He’d felt… dread? His stomach had dropped. Something deja vu like. And then that dread was proven right when Wooyoung had blown up at him. 

When he tried to step into the ring. 

Fuck, that feels like so long ago--it’s only been weeks. He’d remembered something--the woman, the mer, but something else too. Jongho, he thinks. Jongho’s voice, at least. Telling him he ‘knows better than this’. 

Regardless. “It’s subconscious learning, isn’t it?” Both of them look at him blankly. “Like.” He frowns, struggling to find an apt comparison. “We make decisions based on a lot of things--there’s whole disciplines dedicated to replicating that process--but let’s simplify someone’s decision making process to risk-reward. So say you don’t know what a stove is and have, in the past, touched a burner when it was on. You know it hurts, right? So you have negative experience that says never touch it again. But you, possibly, don’t ever think about that experience anymore, in fact maybe it was so far in the past that you just flat out don’t have that memory, you just  _ know _ not to touch the stove burner because you’ll get negative reward.” They nod, slowly, following. “So the burner is an event that results in my death, like, say, stepping into a faerie ring of rotting magic.” 

“You didn’t,” Yeosang says, horrified. 

San grimaces. “I think I did.”

“You stopped yourself,” Wooyoung says. “This time?”

It was less him stopping himself and more his memories somehow presenting themselves to him as reasons to not step into the ring, but if they’re taking this to extremes, then yes. 

He can think of a few other key choices he’s made that are, honestly, a little bit uncharacteristic of him. Not so much that he noticed, obviously, but still there. For example--Han’s shop. Everything about that, from going at all to entering to turning back for the keys. He thinks about that, and he wonders why the hell he didn’t just  _ leave _ after feeling Han look at him like he’s pinning a bug to a display case. 

But San supposes he won’t ever know if those choices are influenced by the past iterations. Not really. Maybe he was just a little bit more brave that day, for whatever reason.

“So subconscious influences play a role,” Yeosang says. “And then… small things change. And then the butterfly effect.” 

“But is that enough?” Wooyoung asks. “Clearly there’s a goal to be reached, if you keep folding. Seven times. That’s a lot.”

“The Ocean said this is the closest we’ve gotten.”

Wooyoung hums. 

Luckily they’re saved from discussing it more by the front door opening and closing. The bell doesn’t ring, which San takes as a good sign. The other two are still tense, though, watching the kitchen door with rapt attention. 

“Who has keys?” Yeosang asks Wooyoung, sidelong. 

“Seonghwa,” Wooyoung says. “He’s new. You’d like him. And Hongjoong, but…” But Hongjoong’s in San’s family’s house, which is. Fuck. Another rescue mission. And San had  _ just _ gotten Yeosang out, too. 

Seonghwa and Hongjoong have the keys. When the door swings open it’s neither of them. 

“Hey,” Yunho says, tired and relieved at once. San, also, feels tired and relieved, feels like he could slump to the wall like a puppet whose strings have been cut just from seeing him. “You weren’t supposed to come back.” His eyes linger on Yeosang and San remembers--they knew each other, did anyone tell him that Yeosang’s not dead…? 

“Well, we’re back,” Yeosang says. Byeol peaks her head out from around Yunho’s legs and darts over to San, leaping into his arms. “What happened?”

“With?”

San wonders if he doesn’t know or if he’s deliberately playing dumb, but how could he not know? 

“With hyung,” Yeosang says. “Why does the family have Hongjoong?”

Yunho sighs, presses a hand to his eyes. “You know about that. Of course you do. I can’t convince you to leave, huh.”

“You know the answer to that,” Wooyoung says. 

And it’s strange, because they  _ live _ together, obviously Wooyoung and Yunho are close--but seeing them together is weird. Seeing the look they exchange, speaking without words, is weird. Yunho had always been friendly and Wooyoung had always been standoffish and San wonders how the two of them can separate that, how Yunho could possibly have heard Wooyoung complain (rightly) about San’s family and still decided to try to be friends. 

“Okay,” Yunho says, resigned. The kind of tone that says he’s intimately familiar with what happens when Wooyoung gets stubborn. “He let me go with him for the exchange.”

“Exchange?”

Yunho grimaces. “Yeonjun was missing, remember?”

Oh. 

“So they did take him,” Wooyoung whispers. 

“He’s fine now,” Yunho says. “He’s with Soobin, recovering. Changbin was pissed but there’s nothing any of us could do to get back at them.”

“Why would Hongjoong trade himself?” San asks. “He’s fae and Yeonjun’s a siren, that trade is all kind of unequal, isn’t it? Strategically, it’s not a good move.” Emotionally, maybe, it makes sense, but San doesn’t think Hongjoong and Yeonjun know each other all that well. Would San have done it, despite meeting Yeonjun once and that once not being a particularly good impression?

Yes. He would.

He doesn’t have a saving people thing, not really, San thinks, staring down at his hands. But he’s not sure this is any better.

“He was dying,” Yunho says. Wooyoung sucks a breath in through his teeth and Yeosang sits back down on the ground, hard. “Whatever they were making him do--”

“They must’ve upped the intensity,” Wooyoung says. “Yeonjun, Yeosang, and I are all about the same, power wise. If what they did to Yeosang was killing Yeonjun, they had to have upped the intensity to a level Hongjoong knew he could take but Yeonjun was dying under.” Their eyes meet, and San’s not sure what his face is saying but it can’t be good because Wooyoung’s jaw flexes and he tears away. “Desperation, right? Dahye and Kyuwon were jumpstarted into action. Into coming back here.”

“Whatever they’re doing, they’re doing it now,” San agrees. “But what the hell could they be doing?”

“I was going to ask you,” Yunho says. 

Wooyoung snorts, derisive. “San doesn’t know shit.” San thinks he should probably be insulted but Wooyoung’s sort of defending him, so. 

“He didn’t know about the supernatural until he got here,” Yeosang agrees, and San sends him a concerned look because he’s still on the ground. “At this point, I doubt he’s a double agent.”

“Han vetted him, I know he’s not spying,” Yunho says. “But you really know nothing?”

San shakes his head. He wishes he did. 

“Dammit.” 

He tells them they should wait, talk to Seonghwa and Mingi in the morning, and figure out where to go from there, but for now--they can’t leave Cap’s unless they have a direct route to Levanter, and, by Wooyoung’s admission, no one can teleport into Levanter without Han’s express permission. So they’ll spend the night in the kitchen, because they need rest. (There’s a suspicious amount of bedding in the closets that San doesn’t even want to question.) 

Yunho heads back to his house, and Wooyoung gives him a list of stuff to bring for him tomorrow, and then he’s gone and it’s the three of them and the cat. 

“Goodnight,” Yeosang says, muffled, on the other side of the room. Wooyoung’s curled into him, already kind of asleep, face turned into his stomach, but Yeosang’s looking directly at San. His neck must hurt, at that angle, but he holds and they watch each other, and San wonders if sirens have mindreading capability because Yeosang looks, somehow, like he’s seeing more than what he can physically see. One of his hands is in Wooyoung’s hair, and the other’s outstretched, almost reaching towards San. The room’s still dim. The only light’s from the crack by the door, letting in the streetlight. The distance between them can’t be more than ten meters but it feels like an untraversable chasm, both in the way Yeosang withdraws his hand and the look in his eyes.

Yeosang’s gaze is unreadable.

And San feels like he’s falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. FINISHED. WRITING. OOHHHHH my GOD sometimes u just accidentally write 119k,,,,,,,  
> listen. i told myself this fic would be no more than 30k   
> because i am a lying liar who lies  
> aos;difjlasdlfkjalsgf im so  
> i cant bring myself to edit ngl.   
> anyway. two more chapters coming in a second i might take a minute to do one last read thhrough.......


	13. yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which plans are made and yeosang needs a hug (or eight)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw imma be honest and say a part of this came very close to triggering me and my anxiety around extreme body modification even tho there was none of that...? its a magic thing, it was done by the hunters, and it’s only the scene where yeosang talks to yeonjun so watch out for that if you’re not sure… it's more sort of feeling foreign in your own body idk

They wake up to a loud  _ bang  _ as the door slams open, and all three of them jolt awake so hard that Wooyoung even throws a shock spell before he’s fully upright. Yunho catches it before it hits anyone, thankfully, and two people Yeosang doesn’t recognize both peek out from behind him, one of them leveling a judging eyebrow in Wooyoung’s direction.

“Sorry,” Wooyoung squeaks, relaxing, and the light from behind the three piled in the doorway finally seems to register for all of them. 

“What time is it?” San groans. 

Yeosang wants so badly to smooth down his hair, mussed from tossing and turning, but he refrains, combing his fingers through his own instead.

“It’s noon,” the non-judgy one says, amused. “Morning, sleepyheads.”

“Why don’t  _ you  _ spend days undercover getting magic leeched from you and immediately fight in a battle, Song Mingi,” Wooyoung grumps. “Then we can talk.”

“Don’t have magic,” Mingi says. “So I doubt I’d notice.”

Wooyoung groans again and lies back onto his makeshift bed with a thump. 

_ Ah, the drama.  _

I’ve almost missed it.

_ Same. _

Yunho pushes the other two out to give the three of them some semblance of space, grinning at them apologetically before the door closes. Once alone, Yeosang drags himself up off the floor and yanks Wooyoung up with him. He straightens his own clothes with magic and splashes water on his face, and it doesn’t take long for them to fully wake up, rub the sleep out of their eyes, etc.

They can’t gather out in the dining area—even knowing San’s parents are probably not in the town proper, that’s still a risk they can’t take—so they huddle on the floor of the kitchen. Seonghwa—by hasty introduction—mutters something about being thankful he cleans the floors very thoroughly before closing, which Yeosang is relieved to hear. He doesn’t  _ think  _ he rolled off the blankets and onto the floor last night, but you can never be too sure, and this  _ is  _ a kitchen.

“You left in a hurry,” Yunho notes, dumping Wooyoung’s stuff into his arms. He gives Yeosang a big hug, too, and Yeosang’s glad he isn’t making a big deal out of the whole… thing… despite it definitely being a big deal. He isn’t sure how many emotional reunions he can take.

Wooyoung shrugs as best as he can without dropping anything. “It was a bit of an emergency.”

“Clearly.”

They fill each other in, an abbreviated version. Yeosang interjects to add bits about his time away from them, but not much was important besides (failing at) attempting to convince Hyunjin to come back to Haven, and that he was being actively tracked by his magic. 

Yeosang tries not to be obvious about it, but he stays a distance from San the whole time. It’s strange, because San sort of… gravitates in his direction. And Yeosang wants to gravitate back but he shouldn’t, and so he’s pulling, now, pulling back and away.

When Wooyoung gets to the whole overloading the machine thing, he hesitates, glancing over at Yeosang.

_ That’s your cue. _

“So,” Yeosang says, directing this mostly at Yunho as he’s the only one left who actually knew Jongho but doesn’t know About Jongho, “Jongho hasn’t moved on yet.” 

Yunho takes this remarkably well. His eyes widen, but other than that he doesn’t react. Possibly saving that conversation for later. “So he siphoned energy for the machine?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang says, and they’re about to continue retelling when something occurs to him and—“Oh, he’s effectively possessing me. We timeshare my body now.”

Wooyoung squints at him. “You  _ what?” _

“He took over a few times to speak English and change around our magical signatures.”

“Nothing can surprise me anymore,” San says under his breath.

“That does sound like possession,” says Mingi, who, Yeosang’s learned, is from the Song family but doesn’t follow them. ( _ I hope Song Jisoo got her happy ending,  _ Jongho whispers. Later, Yeosang says. I’ll ask later. Now’s probably not the best time.) He’s supposedly into magic theory, despite not being able to use it himself. Seonghwa, on the other hand, could not be less interested in magic theory, despite dating a fae (a species notorious for getting  _ way _ too into theory), but can do minor magic.

“So Hongjoong hyung’s unwillingly powering their magic skimmer,” Mingi repeats dubiously once they finish. “And you plan to help him  _ how?” _

“Working on it,” Wooyoung says with a grimace. “We’ll figure it out.”

The other three don’t have much to update them on in return, besides Hongjoong's capture and that the hunters are still camped outside Haven’s boundary. Han’s still holding up fine, and Dahye and Kyuwon still can’t go after him. They’re getting any supplies they need via sea, as Changbin and some of the other mer that live in the area are willing to swim out to get to a city and outsource anything they can’t grow or hunt here.

Hongjoong traded himself for Yeonjun because he knew Yeonjun was dying. He went willingly, so no truce was broken.

Now, they just need a plan.

“I’m supposed to meet my parents in a few days. I didn’t specify when,” San says. “I can go in and talk to them alone but that won’t free Hongjoong. I can’t sneak him out on my own.”

“Mingi’s the only one who can get into the property undetected,” Seonghwa adds. “The rest of us have magic signatures. But will the two of you be enough…?”

_ I can suppress mine for about an hour. _

“If Jongho takes over we give off his signature instead of mine,” Yeosang says. “And his specialty was always raw manipulation--he can suppress it enough to look non-magical. I can go. Or, well, he can go. In my body. Taking me with him.”

_ Smooth. _

Shut up.

“Three people,” Yunho muses. “Or, well, four. That could work. As long as San keeps his parents distracted…”

“Someone needs to drop me off outside the town lines,” San says. “My parents will expect me to come in from their alternate entrance, and might be watching for me.”

“I can take you,” Wooyoung volunteers. “I might have to drop you, so they don’t see me with you.” 

“That’s fine,” San says. 

And that’s the beginning of the plan. Wooyoung and Yunho contribute the most to the rest, as they’ve seen the most ‘battle’ out of the six of them, and at the end of the hour they have a maybe fully-formed plan. To be put into action tomorrow, if nothing goes horribly wrong between now and then.

And that’s when they hear, “Hey.” No door sounds or anything—someone teleported in.

San jumps so hard Yeosang reaches out instinctively to make sure he’s okay. No one else is too surprised by Han’s sudden appearance, but that’s probably due to them being used to people popping around town. 

“Hey,” Yeosang says, waving. He’s next to San now, something San looks both deeply discomfited and strangely touched by

“Yunho told me you were here,” Han says. 

_ Hannie! _

“Jongho says hi,” he adds, because Han, like Hyunjin, will be able to tell he’s there.

Han grins at him. “How’s he readjusting to having a flesh prison?”

Yeosang blinks. “What.”

_ It’s… fine. _

Yeosang doesn’t bother to relay that. 

“Changbin wants to see you,” Han says, letting the matter slide. “Yeosang and Wooyoung. I can take you to Levanter now, if you’re not talking about anything too important. Yeonjun’s there too.”

Because it’s Han, Yeosang doesn’t question how the hell he knew they were here. He must have some sort of filter on teleportation that gives magical signatures. Or something. 

_ Sounds about right. _

They’re almost done talking, so it should be fine. And they can’t pop in on their own because of Han’s wards, so him taking them now is probably the easiest. Yeosang nods, but San tugs back on Yeosang’s shirt. “Will it be a while?”

Right. They shouldn’t leave San alone… maybe Yunho can stay? Bringing him to Levanter might not be the best idea, if Yeonjun’s there. “Not too long,” Yeosang says. “I doubt your family will find you in that time. But you shouldn’t be alone, so Yunho, can you stay…?” Yunho gives his assent so there’s that taken care of.

San frowns, gently extracting his hand, and Yeosang can’t help but feel like he said the wrong thing. Still. He should go see Yeonjun and Changbin. 

“We’ll be back soon,” Yeosang says again, taking Han’s outstretched hand. San keeps looking at him, back to a blank mask, but at least he nods in acknowledgement. 

“You’re an idiot,” Wooyoung says when they land, peering around Han to give Yeosang a very patented now-who’s-a-dumbass glare.

“He was isolated for sixty years,” Han says, patting Wooyoung’s back sympathetically. “Give him some time to readjust to emotions.”

What?

_ For once, Woo’s right. You’re an idiot. _

What?? What did I do?

_ Nothing, _ Jongho says.

Whatever.

Yeonjun looks sickly. It’s… he’s pale, and he’s sitting down and doesn’t stand to glomp Wooyoung which is always a bad sign. He’s worse off than Yeosang was, even though with their respective timeframes you’d expect it to be the opposite.

_ Especially  _ since Yeonjun has access to open water.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Changbin says to him, quietly, hesitating just a little away, as Wooyoung rushes to Yeonjun. Yeosang opens his arms, aware that he’s asking for permission, and Changbin pulls him into a tight, tight hug. 

“It’s good to see you,” Yeosang says. And it is nice. It’s nice to be with the other three again. Han left, at some point, so it’s just the four of them. He lowers his voice. “How’s he doing…?”

“Better,” Changbin says grimly, pulling away. “But not great. Whatever they did to him… he doesn’t know what it was, exactly, but…” 

“They’re harvesting magic,” Yeosang says. “But they need magic to power the machine that does the harvesting. With me it was mild because they were skimming but they must be doing something different now.”

“They’re what?” Changbin glances back at an empty corner of the room. 

Yeosang squints in that direction. “Is Han listening in?” 

“He’s always listening,” Changbin says. “This is  _ his _ store. It’s a monitor.”

Ah. Makes sense. At least Yeosang won’t have to repeat anything. 

“Did Yeonjun say anything about what happened…?”

“Just that they did something,” Changbin says. “He didn’t have magic and then he had magic again but it was… different?”

Yeosang repeats the question to Yeonjun but he isn’t any more specific. It doesn’t sound like the machine, though, which is throwing Yeosang off. 

“It was weird,” Yeonjun says, quietly. “There was a day where I couldn’t do any magic at all. They made me try children’s spells and I… I couldn’t do any of it. And then… they did something, some spell, and my magic was back. But it’s… wrong. I don’t know if it’s really my magic, but it’s  _ some _ magic and different magic’s better than no magic at all, right?”

Maybe. 

_ Let me see, _ Jongho says. 

Yeosang gets closer and with Yeonjun’s permission lays a hand on his forehead. It should be enough for Jongho to poke at his magic without needing to take control. 

_ Yeah, _ he says.  _ That’s weird. It’s not his magic. Well, it is, but it isn’t. _

What does that mean?

_ It’s a patchwork,  _ Jongho says.  _ It looks like someone--it looks like they mixed his magic into a pot of other magic and just gave him the right amount without caring if it was actually his.  _

That… doesn’t sound good. 

_ If it were entirely someone else’s magic I’d say his body will start rejecting it soon, but he isn’t experiencing too much discomfort using it and it doesn’t look like it’s having problems… it seems there’s enough of his own magic mixed in that it’s tricking his body into thinking it’s his.  _

Yeosang lets his hand drop, tuning out the other three’s worried questioning. His stomach rebels, thinking of his own magic, and how he’d feel if it suddenly felt as foreign as Yeonjun described. 

They’re farming magic. 

They’re farming magic and relocating it. 

Fuck.

_ Would it be possible,  _ Jongho says, slowly,  _ to then superficially give normal humans magic?  _

Yeah. 

Yeosang waves off Wooyoung’s worried patting and sits down heavily. He doesn’t think too hard about the implications because the implications are… a lot. The implications mean a lot of things that Yeosang  _ does not  _ want to think about.

It’s definitely possible. But that’s not what they care about, is it?

The family has magic. Weak magic, compared to non-humans, but still. Magic. Imagine if they had the power to multiply that magical power by hundreds.

The magic they gave Yeonjun is roughly the same size and power as what he had originally, but things like this happen in steps. Test the mixing, test the sizing up, then put the successful tests together. 

_ To test sizing up they’ll add magic without removing and mixing the existing magic,  _ Jongho whispers. _ But bad things can happen when magic doesn’t fit a body. Really bad things. _

Yeosang remembers the burn from Jongho channeling magic into the machine, and wonders what that would feel like all at once, instead of a steady stream.

Shit. 

They need to get to Hongjoong. 

Fast.

* * *

Yeonjun promises he’s okay, and if he’s not okay, he’ll go into the water and commune with the Ocean and won’t keep any of them in the dark. Changbin’s overexerting himself trying to make sure Han and Chan  _ don’t _ overexert himself, and Wooyoung’s so concerned over his condition that he insists on staying in Levanter with him, just for the night. 

So it’s just Yeosang that Han ferries back to Cap’s. 

“Hey,” Han says, somewhere in the void of the middle, between their entry and their exit, “good luck with whatever you’re about to do. I can’t tell what it is, but I know it’s important. The primordials are starting to pay attention. I’ll stay out of your way.”

And that is, maybe, not the best sign.

Regardless. 

Yunho has to leave after Yeosang updates them on the Yeonjun situation, something about promising someone something, and Han blinks out of existence while Yeosang and San say goodbye, so then when things settle down it’s just Yeosang and San, staring at each other. 

Again. 

“Hey,” Yeosang says, for lack of anything better. 

San raises an eyebrow. “Hi.”

It’s awkward, but maybe it’s better that way. 

“You’re pulling back,” San says. He doesn’t reach forward, which Yeosang’s grateful for. “Is it because you  _ want _ to stop talking to me or because of the iterating? Because I get not wanting to talk to me. But if it’s the iterating--”

“We don’t  _ know _ each other,” Yeosang says. “Not really.” Any semblance of closeness comes from the loops. It’s not  _ really them _ and San doesn’t seem to get that.

“So it’s the iterating.”

“We don’t--”

“I know you like chicken,” San says, suddenly. 

Yeosang squints at him. “...Yeah?” 

Where is he going with this?

_ Since Wooyoung’s not here to do it, you’re an idiot. _

“You drink coffee with more sugar than actual coffee because you don’t like the taste,” San says. “You bit my grandfather’s hand off from a swimming start--so you have good aim.” 

Jongho laughs.

“You love oranges but hate the pith so you spend literal hours meticulously peeling it off before you’ll eat it. You love to cuddle. When you’re walking somewhere with something in your hands you try to put it on your head like you’re in the etiquette training montage part of a princess movie. You’re selfless to the point of self-sabotage. You doodle everywhere.” He’s frowning now, like he himself doesn’t quite know what he’s doing. “I know all of that from  _ this _ iteration. So I know you, at least. Does it really matter if we started out with subconscious bias?”

But that’s not quite the problem, is it? 

_ Then what is? _

He can’t put his finger on it. It stems, maybe, from San’s fear, before they left Haven-- _ I physically recoil when people touch me, always have. I can’t cuddle with anyone because it feels like ants under my skin, But it’s not like that with you. And it scares me. _

They’d gotten off to a start that was somewhere in the middle, cheat coding their way through a friendship. Does that even count? Does the head start mean they need to progress further to consider themselves really friends? It was unnerving, for both of them--the amount of trust they had in each other despite, respectively, Yeosang being trapped in San’s house and San’s human instincts screaming ‘predator’ at him. 

Yeosang doubts they’d be where they are if they hadn’t had that head start. 

But isn’t that the point of looping?

“I don’t know,” Yeosang says, finally. “I’m just… I’m working through it.”

But San’s right. 

The memories Yeosang saw--they do love each other, no matter what kind of love that is. There’s love and there’s trust and they don’t have  _ this _ issue that Yeosang’s having right now. 

It’s just a lot to think about. 

“Okay,” San says, and there’s something about the way he says it, Yeosang wants to hug him. Kitten in a rain drenched cardboard box at the back of an alley. That type of sound. 

Maybe he should just give into the urge, Yeosang thinks, pretending he isn’t watching San curl into a ball around Byeol, for lack of anything better to do. 

_ Maybe. _

* * *

Time passes agonizingly slowly. Yeosang can’t concentrate enough to put himself back into his mind and try to find more memories because he’s worried about San and he’s worried about Hongjoong and he’s worried about the whole situation and what the family will do if they’re successful. 

He tries, though. Meditates for so long Jongho actually falls asleep. Yeosang didn’t think he  _ could _ fall asleep but apparently lack of stimulus (boredom) will do it. The basketball’s still there, in the back of his mind—just resting.

“How much do you remember?” Yeosang asks, after sitting in awkward silence for far too long.

San glances up. “Not much. I get flashes, sometimes, like that one—” he cuts himself off, clearly having come to the same conclusion as Yeosang about how that one memory ended. “But I don’t really remember anything concrete. And I get confused between that and my missing summer, sometimes.”

Right. Because not only is San dealing with loop memories, but he’s also missing an entire summer in Haven. 

Right. 

“Do you remember anything?”

And that’s… he should’ve thought about how he would reply when he first asked. Of course San would ask in return. It’s this weird dichotomy though, between wanting to keep those memories private (because they  _ are _ private, they’re private and intimate and not the kind of thing he wants to give away, because it’s like giving away a piece of himself) but knowing that San’s  _ in  _ all of them, he deserves to know what Yeosang knows. 

“A little,” Yeosang admits. “I remembered a little more after I talked to the Ocean.”

San sits up, more alert now. “Really?”

“Nothing substantial,” Yeosang says. He’s backtracking, he knows he is, because San’s inching closer and staring at him wide-eyed. “Just glimpses. I don’t have context for anything.”

“But still,” San says, “It’s something?”

It is something. 

“You saw mine,” San says. “Can you show me yours?”

He could say no. He could 100% just lie and say no, it’s impossible, that type of magic needs to be on San’s end, not his, but instead he opens his mouth and says, “yes.”

San beams, and Yeosang can’t take it back. He holds out a hand and San takes it and--when did he get that close? Yeosang shakes himself. Luckily Jongho’s still asleep so there’s no one to make fun of him. “Ready?”

When he sees his memories it’s less watching and more experiencing. San’s was the same, and Yeosang remembers standing just slightly to the left and watching invisibly, so he supposes it’s going somewhat the same for San. He can feel San’s eyes on him, though, which makes everything slightly more disconcerting, and, counterintuitively, intimate. 

He’s blushing when they both come back, and he can’t tell because San sort of ducks his head but he thinks he’s blushing too.

“You really like cuddling,” San says, in that tone that says he’s just desperate to break the silence.

“It’s not like you were complaining,” Yeosang retorts.

San doesn’t respond for a moment, and Yeosang almost resigns himself to taking the blame for doubling the tension, but then he says, “You’re worried that without the loops, I’d have always been that person.”

That person. The person who stood behind his mother as she gleefully dealt a killing blow to Yeosang’s psyche—not that he knows what it actually was, due to how fragmented that memory is—who watched as Yeosang was dragged down to the rock. 

He’s a little worried about that, yeah. 

It’s only subconscious influence that keeps San from being that person. He’s seven folds and eight iterations off from being that person. That’s not that far off.

“I can tell you what I was probably thinking,” San says.

Yeosang doesn’t answer, unsure of what, exactly, he’d say, even if he could open his mouth. 

“When I came to Haven I was already suspicious of my parents,” San says. “But they’d done nothing to deserve that suspicion. That I knew of, at least. They took shitty cases, they won shitty cases, but all lawyers do that. That’s not nearly the same level as what they are. Yeah there’s the murder charge, but sometimes the cops catch the wrong people, right? Until a ruling, I, logically, shouldn’t have assumed the worst.” He swallows. “When I came to Haven, in the timeline that I remember, I had time to process what kind of people they really are.”

Byeol meows at him and pushes up into the space under his legs, and he lets her bury herself there. 

“That first version of me was probably overwhelmed with the sudden influx of information, and the atmosphere that Haven has. That version of me didn’t have a subconscious understanding of the supernatural—I’d done research but knowing is not the same as seeing. That version of me probably didn’t find you as soon as I did because I have—I have some memory of Jongho yelling for me to find you and I’m pretty sure it’s from one of the loops. 

“Whatever happened the first time around that it turned out like that, it was a lack of preparedness. So when my parents showed up—same as now, I assume—with a not-guilty ruling, I would have been inclined to believe them, if only to have something familiar to lean on.” He pauses; takes a deep breath, and determinedly does not look at Yeosang. “ _ You’re _ the ‘something familiar’ now, whether either of us want it or not. My first iteration of coming to Haven I was unprepared and alone, but every time after that I latched onto you.”

It makes a large amount of sense. 

“You think I’m just a step away from reverting back to that, don’t you,” San says. 

“No,” Yeosang says, but he… kind of does. The part of him that--he isn’t cynical, okay, he  _ isn’t,  _ but some part of him is  _ practical _ and that part of him says that it’s not outside the realm of possibility. 

“Yeosang,” San says. “Wooyoung told me that my parents got themselves banned from Haven for killing a child. And I didn’t even hesitate to believe him. Does that sound like someone straddling the line?”

“No,” Yeosang repeats. “Your parents really--?”

“If he was telling the truth, yeah,” San says. He doesn’t look too torn up about it but again, he’s very good at hiding what he's feeling. “And I don’t doubt that he was telling the truth.”

If San had any doubt that his parents were bad people he would have thought twice. Granted, killing a kid isn’t the _ worst _ crime but it certainly ranks up there. And the notion San has of his parents in his head has to be  _ bad _ for him not to doubt it for a second. Yeosang doesn’t answer, but San must read defeat in that because he slumps back, letting go of the hand that Yeosang had honestly forgotten he was holding. Yeosang feels the loss but he elects to simply ignore it because. 

Because it’s easier.

And now San’s looking at him weirdly. “You know if you want to hug like they--we--were… you can just ask.”

He knows. But he doesn’t really  _ know.  _ Or, well, he didn’t, but now he does, because San’s not expectant per se, but he’s somewhere in that realm, and they’d cuddled before, but that was a lot, and honestly Yeosang doesn’t know if his heart could take it. “Thanks,” he says, forcing down the urge to give in and say  _ please. _

“Okay,” San says, waiting a little longer before ultimately deciding Yeosang isn’t gonna say anymore. “Okay.” He returns back to what Yeosang’s mentally dubbed his corner. 

“Okay,” Yeosang whispers, watching him go. 


	14. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san gets himself into a biiiiit of a pickle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw shitty parents, manipulation

San leans against the wall, head tilted to catch the sound easier. It’s pouring, rain thundering down on the roof and the door, and he misses hearing it against windows but he’s not stupid enough to inch out into the public part of the diner, abandoned as the town may be in the dead of night.

They’d stayed in their separate corners for the rest of the day, and San can admit to acting a little aloof because of what happened earlier, but he’s not going to go back on it. So he feels a little snubbed. It’s not Yeosang’s fault, though. He’s just. Disconcerted. 

The memories Yeosang showed him are disconcerting. 

They’re more fully formed than anything San’s seen on his own. And that makes it a lot more real. That they knew each other, then effectively forgot. 

“Hey.” Yeosang’s facing him now--San doesn’t know when he turned--and he’s squinting at San. Or he might be squinting, San can’t tell. It’s too dark.

“Hey yourself. Is Jongho…?” And that was another weird thing to hear. That Jongho can take over Yeosang’s body--with permission only, apparently, but still. Weird. 

“He’s asleep, I think. It’s—” he checks the glowing digital clock on the oven. “It’s 3am. Have you slept at all?”

No, San should say. He should tell the truth. “I used to do this when I was nervous,” he says instead. “When it rained, and I was nervous, I’d stay up to listen.”

It’s a nice sound. Soothing. Sort of white noise, lulling you to sleep. 

He’d dealt with a lot of anxiety, growing up. For various reasons. 

His therapists always recommended meditation. He could never get a hand on it. The sitting-still part’s usually what trips kids up, but he had that down--for him it was the thinking. His mind is just a never-ending stream of thoughts. Constant. Kids on a school bus. Ignore them, his therapists would say. Tune them out. 

But he never could. Not unless it was raining. 

“I keep thinking about what could go wrong,” he says. 

Yeosang shifts closer, hums. “It makes sense to be nervous.”

Of course it makes sense to be nervous. He’s facing his parents tomorrow. He knows things, now, unforgivable things, which means he’ll have to look them in the eyes and pretend he doesn’t see murderers. He’ll have to  _ stall _ them and then make a run for it. Conceivably he’s just as powerful as them--but what if he’s not? What if they have something up their sleeves? What if something goes wrong?

“You’ll be okay,” Yeosang says softly, and intertwines their fingers. San wonders what kind of mental gymnastics he’s been doing in his sleep to be okay reaching out when he’d been pushing away the night before, but he’s too tired to think that through. “We’ll get Hongjoong and get out and then… deal with everything else when we get there. But we’ll succeed. We’ll be okay.”

“I feel like we’re missing something,” San whispers. “Something big.”

Yeosang’s quiet. “Well, if we are… then we’ll figure something out.”

San leans into him wordlessly, and his arm comes up around San’s shoulders. The rain is quieter now, but his mind is no more buzzing than it was before. He can feel Yeosang’s breathing, like this. 

_ “I hope our ending…” _ Yeosang near-whispers, and San tenses. He recognizes the song from Jongho’s dream. But Yeosang’s singing. Which means. 

He’s shivering a little bit, and San can hear the hitching in his breath. It’s not a seductive song, anyway--far from it--but he’s not trying to… and he wouldn’t. San, for all Yeosang can claim doesn’t know him at all, does know that. 

He’d been horrified--horrified, or maybe a healthy mixture of terror and horror--when Wooyoung used his Song on that guy at the school. Seeing the empty look in his eyes--seeing him do what Wooyoung wanted without question. San had thought it would fully rekindle whatever fear he felt towards the beginning, the fear that kicks in when his memories don’t decide to smother it with a towel where the towel is San’s feelings--whatever they are--for Yeosang. 

But it hasn’t. 

And San knows he isn’t being put under, knows because he  _ does _ know how it feels. Because of Yeonjun that one night in the diner. He knows this isn’t it. Yeosang’s just singing.

San wonders how long it’s been since someone outside his choir willingly listened to him sing. 

Yeosang continues, when San doesn’t move to stop him.  _ “...wouldn’t be a sad one… so that I won’t cry when I think of this moment…” _

He has a beautiful voice. And maybe he has to, for what he is, but still… 

San wonders if this will be a memory he’ll keep, in the next loop. If there is a next loop. He wonders how they got to where they were, before, how they ended up wrapped in each other at every turn--and before he knows it he’s crying. A quiet crying, where his breathing hitches just a bit but he can stifle it well enough, where the tears drip down his face and off his chin and into his lap without much fanfare. Where his throat burns and his heart hurts and he closes his eyes and leans into Yeosang’s shoulder and imagines what it would be like to be in past-him’s place. To love and be loved.

And then he thinks, maybe he is. 

As Yeosang’s lips brush his forehead, he keeps singing, pressing the lyrics into San’s skin, and San wonders if Yeosang does feel what he does, but is still scared.

Not that San isn’t scared.

Because it’s the two of them, Yeosang’s song nearly drowned by the rain, sitting secretly in the dark, huddled together, and San feels so  _ small. _

He looks up, towards the end of the song. Picks his head up and looks--because he wants to see if Yeosang’s crying too--but that just puts them facing each other, so close San can make out every feature of his face despite the dark. But Yeosang doesn’t look away, so San doesn’t either. 

_ “...our happy ending.” _

The air between them is thick. Not with tension. Or, at least, not with bad tension. Just… heavy. Present. If San breathes too much of it in he might choke. He wants… he wants. He  _ wants. _

Outside rain continues to fall. Outside, nothing has changed. 

“Thank you,” Yeosang whispers. For what, for trusting him? For listening? For being here at all? For not running? 

It doesn’t matter. 

“Always,” San says, and no matter how much either of them deny it, it’s true. 

They scoot back to where they’d set up blankets, both tired enough, now, to sleep--Yeosang tugs on San’s wrist when he goes over to his own, so he takes the cue and follows him to his corner, instead. And along the way San turns to look at him and thinks, somewhat sluggishly, that even in the barely-there lighting the digital numbers on the oven afford them, Yeosang is beautiful. 

The thought gets caught in his throat. He lays back and stares at the ceiling, and. 

San’s not stupid or cheesy enough to say that their meeting was fate. He knows why they met--they would’ve met regardless of San’s choices. He’d even go out on a limb and say that it’s likely that in every possible timeline, they’re certain to meet. But. 

Knowing Yeosang, even knowing Hongjoong and Wooyoung and the others, has brought him to life maybe more than he’d like to admit. He wasn’t living, before. He was just alive. They saved him. 

And he isn’t exaggerating that. 

He knows facing his parents tomorrow will be a trial, possibly more difficult than anything else he’s done this past month. But he’ll push through it. For them. And, somewhat, for himself. Because he  _ needs _ to talk to his parents at some point, and why not kill two birds with one stone?

(Because if you miss, he thinks to himself. If you miss, those birds have talons sharp enough to make you bleed.)

* * *

The morning comes too quickly. 

“I’m following you into the building,” Yeosang reminds San quietly, ears still a little red from the embarrassment of Wooyoung catching them before they woke up—wrapped up in each other in a tangle of limbs. Wooyoung, thankfully, hadn’t commented beyond an eyebrow wiggle that Yeosang socked him in the shoulder for. “And Mingi will be outside. If you need help, at all--you won’t, because they didn’t know you were here--but if you need any help, yell.”

“I’m not going to risk them discovering you--”

“San, please,” Yeosang says. “If you need help,  _ please _ call for us.”

Mingi, now armed with a knife, nods in agreement. San feels like the mother in that vine with the child—the urge to take it away from him before he hurts himself is strong _.  _ “I might not be much help but I’ll do my best,” Mingi says. 

Yunho, meanwhile, is in the corner trying to get Byeol to not hiss at him, and Seonghwa’s just watching him with amusement. 

“Fine,” San says, very much a lie. But Hongjoong’s not here to tell them that, so it doesn’t matter. “I’ll call.”

Yeosang doesn’t believe him, but there’s not much more he can do about it. 

“Ready?” Wooyoung asks, holding out a hand. 

San takes it. “No,” he says. 

“Well,” Wooyoung says. “We do have to go, so.”

“I know.” San looks back at Yeosang, who’s already been drawn into a quiet conversation with Mingi. Wooyoung sucks a breath in through his teeth, eyebrow climbing higher and higher, but San just makes a face in return. “Let’s go.”

* * *

The woods are quiet.

This is, San’s realizing, the first time he’s been  _ really _ alone since he found Yeosang in the cellar. 

He’s sort of missed solitude. Though maybe that’s just the introvert in him wanting to recharge. 

He takes a deep breath and presses forward. 

The town line should be soon. He double checks his phone just in case, and yeah--he’s on track. He hefts the backpack Yunho supplied him with a little higher. It’s filled with throwaway clothes Wooyoung and Yunho don’t care about, just to make it look like he’s really intending to stay, so it’s light, but it still feels like a weight on his back. Expectation. 

He feels it, when he crosses the line. The wash of Han’s magic passes over him, permitting him entrance. He supposes his parents are counting on Han never having encountered San’s magic before, and letting him in as a magic user by default. Han’s likely too occupied by the hunters to check himself. 

San takes the path they specified, up and around the residential areas, through to the back until he’s on the path to the property. On the way, though, he sees nymphs peak over at him from their trees. A ball rolls into his path, at some point, and he hands it back to the bashful kid who apologizes for bothering him. San doesn’t know if the kid knows who he is, but the parents do, because they nod warily at him, and he nods back.

He hopes he won’t disappoint them.

Once on the path to the property the woods grow silent. 

No bird noises, no rustling of leaves--just complete, deathly silence. 

Yeosang--Jongho, rather--and Mingi must be here, invisible, he thinks, once he reaches the gate. Jongho might’ve been able to let them in, but San doesn’t want to risk it, so he opens the gate slowly, and walks through slowly, and stands there, for a moment. He feels something brush by his arm. Fingertips, maybe. 

He closes the gate. 

His parents are inside. Waiting for him. The house isn’t visible but San can almost feel its presence. Looming.

“Okay,” he mumbles. “I got this.”

The door is heavier than he remembers. Again, he waits a little too long to close it, and once he does he hopes Jongho made it through, but he can’t think about that now. 

Now, he has to think about--

“Hello?” He calls, dropping his bag by the door. “Mom, Dad?”

“Sannie?”

He schools his expression into happiness, follows the voice into the living room, making sure to look around as if he hasn’t been here before. “Oh, wow,” he says, looking out at the sea through the sprawling windows and trying not to remember how many times he’d catch Yeosang standing at any of the ocean-facing windows, just watching the waves. “That’s pretty.”

“Isn’t it,” Dahye says. She opens her arms for a hug and San obliges, getting a pat on the back from Kyuwon as he straightens back up. “It’s so good to see you, Sannie. How have you been?”

“Fine,” he says, following her directions to sit. She hands him a glass but he declines, so she shrugs and pours the wine into her own. 

She takes something out of a box, then—a necklace. Silver, with a blue pendant in the shape of a cat. “I saw this on the way here. It reminded me of you—how is your cat doing, adjusting to living with another person?” She holds it out and San dips his head obligingly so she can hook it around his neck. 

“Thank you,” San says, quietly, touching it once it’s settled. “Byeol’s fine. She likes my roommate.” 

“And school?”

“The degree is… kicking my ass, but it’s worth it.”

“Funny,” Dahye says, though her voice says it’s anything but. “We called your school. They said you dropped out.”

They  _ what? _ Can they do that? He’s paying out of his trust, now, which is entirely his without connection to them, due to both the nature of trusts and the charges. They shouldn’t be allowed to get that kind of information. 

But what they’re legally allowed to do doesn’t matter to them, does it.

“Ah,” San says, mind racing. He has to explain this away. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

His parents wait expectantly. He takes a deep breath, puts on his best bracing expression, and says, “I joined an entertainment company.”

Oh, their  _ faces. _

“You  _ what?” _ Dahye demands, leaning forward, hands twitching like she’s itching to pull him to her by the collar. 

“I’ve always loved singing,” he says, which they know. “But I’ve been dancing whenever I can, lately--” which is the truth, pre-Haven, but they didn’t know. “--and I auditioned to be a dancer at an entertainment company, and I passed.” There’s the lie.

Celebrity is the opposite of what they want. He’s not claiming to be a trainee, of course, he isn’t someone who’ll have saesangs after debut, who’ll be spotted by fans and accosted by less-than-polite fans and who can’t go anywhere without it being told to the internet. But he’d still be close. And they don’t like that. 

Their family has secrets. Their family likes the shadows, likes to stick away from the spotlight. 

“That’s wonderful,” Dahye says, a complete lie. “And that is, of course, why you were in America for the past week?”

Fuck.

The words are a lead weight in his stomach, tugging at his lungs and his throat and his heart. 

“I wasn’t in America,” San laughs, trying to salvage this, but she shakes her head in disappointment. 

“Do you truly think we have no way to track you but your phone? Sannie,” she says, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, “you are a  _ beacon, _ wherever you go. We knew you came here, while we were still on trial--why do you think we rushed the date? We were planning to come back after the decision regardless, but you were incentive to speed it up.”

“I didn’t,” San says, because what else can he do at this point other than deny it? “This is the first time I’ve come to this house--”

“We have  _ fae  _ blood, San,” Dahye says, with a certain finality. Like this is the Truth, capital T. “I know when I’m being lied to.”

And he walked right into this, didn’t he. Walked right back to them, when he’s been saying, for the longest time, that this is the last thing that can happen. That they can’t get to him, they can’t know he knows. And it must’ve been instinct from a past iteration, because it logically makes no sense--he’s not more important than Yeosang or Hongjoong or Wooyoung--but somewhere inside him he  _ knows. _ This is bad. This is very, very bad. 

“Fae lines are watched,” San says, out of desperation. He’s admitting to knowing about the supernatural, but he has to give some to take some. “Are you really claiming that the fae are watching you?”

“They’re always watching,” Dahye says dismissively. “You clearly visited the library--didn’t you learn about our history from the books? We hunted them when  _ they _ hunted  _ us _ . Eventually they decided they couldn’t afford to keep losing to mere  _ humans, _ and accepted a truce.” She smiles. It’s not a nice smile. San would say it’s a shark smile, but he holds back anything adjacent to a comparison to Yeosang and his choir. “They hurt us first, San, don’t you remember? Our ancestor wanted to free the fae from the tyranny of the king, and they were cast out for it. So we hid, for years, until the fae found us, and they hunted us, and they wouldn’t leave out family alone, and we finally, finally returned fire.” 

They only hunted when they were being hunted, they hunted for survival--but what they’re doing now isn’t survival. What they’re doing now makes them no better than the fae that attacked them in the first place. 

“Someone will always be the footstool,” Dahye says. She stands, and San stands as well, unwilling to give even an inch. “And we’re  _ done _ with it being us.”

“Us?”

“Humans,” Dahye says, because as long as human blood’s majority they are, technically, human. And it seems that despite all the selective breeding they are still that much more human. “The  _ monsters _ of this world think they’re better than us, because they live longer, they heal faster, they can do magic, they fuck humans over by taking advantage of our lack of knowledge of their very existence. Imagine what magic could do if enough of them put it forward to a good cause. Solving droughts. Hunger. Stopping wars. Curing incurable diseases.” She sneers. “Innately human problems, so they don’t care.”

Wars, San would argue, are not innately human, but other than that… he hates to admit she has a point. But whatever they’re doing is undoubtedly  _ not _ the way to go about it. “You have a lot of grand ideas,” he says. “I can’t imagine you’re going to try and convince them all to help.”

She laughs. “Convince them, no.” She sighs, theatric. “Your attachment to them makes you a liability, Sannie. You can’t actually enjoy being around the Siren.”

So she does know he let Yeosang go. 

That’s not good.

“What are you doing, if not convincing them?” San asks.

“We harness their abilities,” Kyuwon says. “We take their gift, and give it to those who deserve it.”

“And who decides that?” San says. “You two? That’s not a fair system. And what about  _ how  _ you take it? If they agreed, it’d be one thing, but right now you’re taking from kids! You’re  _ preying  _ on innocent children!”

“They’re not innocent,” Dahye dismisses. “They’re all the same.” She collects herself, takes a breath that San wishes he could imitate, but he’s entirely too worked up now. “We weren’t done talking about your siren.”

“He’s not  _ mine,”  _ San says, incensed and maybe a little sensitive from the school’s treatment of Wooyoung. “He’s not fucking property.”

_ “It  _ has been your father’s family’s property since your grandfather trapped it here.”

And oh, he sees red.

“Mom—”

“And that one was particularly nasty—it bit your grandfather’s hand off, Sannie, and that’s when he decided it had to be taken in. You can’t enjoy spending time with  _ monsters  _ like that—” Oh, rewrite history.

“They’re not—”

“I don’t know how you can even stand to be in its presence—it’s one of the worst breeds of monster. Mind control and manipulation—”

“I  _ love  _ him, Mom!”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best timing for that outburst.

Saying it aloud had surprisingly little effect on him. No fireworks, or sudden realization, or anything like that. It just… is.

“He doesn’t have any hold over me,” San grits out, into the silence. “I’ve felt siren manipulation. I would know.”

“No,” Kyuwon agrees, surprisingly. “There’s no magical hold on you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Dahye bursts out. “You’ve known it for, what, a month? Less? You can’t  _ actually believe  _ you love it, San.”

“I do,” San says, not backing down. And he knows that he does, and she knows that he does, because she’s looking at him with a not insignificant amount of horror.

San hopes he’s bought Jongho enough time because he doesn’t know how much longer his parents will entertain this before, undoubtedly, locking him in a room, citing mental instability. “I love him. And you badmouthing him isn’t going to change that.”

Dahye looks at him, quiet. “You’re further gone than I thought.”

What? 

“We knew it’d be difficult to return you to the right side,” Dahye says, picking up her wine. It’s all unnervingly casual, as is the glance she and Kyuwon exchange before Kyuwon disappears in the direction of the kitchen—hopefully Jongho keeps himself invisible as he leaves. “After all, you’ve taken their side before.”

She can’t be referring to the iterations. There’s no way.

“Even if you don’t remember—” she sighs, again. “—we knew you’d defect someday. We tried to keep you away so it wouldn’t happen too soon, but, well.” She gestures at San. “I suppose we’re too late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you read the story of omelas?” Dahye asks. She sips her wine, unconcerned with his answer. “There is a society where everyone is happy, and everything is good. The people of this society have what they need, what they desire… they aren’t left wanting for anything. But in order for a society like this to function, there must be consequences.” She sets the wine on the coaster, straightens, not a wrinkle in her skirt or her jacket, and smoothes down San’s shirt. “There’s a child in a closet-sized basement, far away from the people. Occasionally, the door to the closet will open, and people will look in. Some of the town chooses never to look, content with knowing the child exists. Some of the town will come see the child for themselves. Most of the town lives on in their happiness, while some walk away to some fate outside a utopia. Perhaps they come back to our world.” She tips his chin down with a finger. “Perhaps they arrive somewhere worse.” 

San removes her hand from his face, desperately trying to keep calm. The basement allegory is not amusing. “I think you and I read different stories.”

“You would walk away?” She asks, bemused. “The suffering of one is too much to bear, so much that you would return to the suffering of many? The suffering of your friends and family?”

“I would return to the slight suffering of many over the outright torture of one, yeah,” San says. “When you lie on a bed of nails your weight is dispersed enough that none will puncture your skin. If you step on a single nail, it’ll go right through your foot.” He steps back, away from her, and the distance helps him clear his head somewhat. So, what, they would trap all magical people/beings in places like that school, force them into compliance. Hurt them. Torture them. Yeosang didn’t tell him how Yeonjun was doing but he was very clearly worried—Yeosang himself is still recovering, magically—the alumni from the school have never gotten back their magical potency. What his parents are doing causes irrevocable  _ harm. _ “We as people understand that it’s unethical to kill a person for their organs, even if it would save many. How is this any better?”

“We, as people,” she says. “As  _ people, _ are different from them. They are unnatural, and they have unnatural advantages. Why does one of them deserve magic over one of us?”

“We have magic.”

“Engineered magic. We’ll never be as powerful as they are.” She smiles. It’s, surprise surprise, not a nice smile. In fact it’s so far from a nice smile that San feels dread crawl up his spine, as if he’s being cornered. “Except you, Sannie.”

“Me?” He sees, from the corner of his eye, as Kyuwon emerges slowly from the dining area. It’s not reassuring. 

“You.” She advances. He backs up. “You’re different, my baby. Different from the rest of us.”

“Different how?” 

“Different,” she repeats. “We knew, ever since we gave you that power, that it might corrupt you to their way of thinking.” 

Their way of thinking?

_ Screaming. No, no, no—“Kyuwon, take it away!” Dahye holds him down and he thrashes but he’s small and young and weak and she has a tight grip on his arm. The world is white. Pulsing. He burns. _

_ He BURNS. _

In front of him, in the present, she merely smiles. “That’s why we locked away your memories, in hopes that you would develop normally. But you’ve broken through, haven’t you.”

“I don’t remember,” San says, still reeling from the sudden memory. “If you’re talking about our summer here, I promise you I still don’t remember--”

_ HE BURNS. _

“Not just that.” His back hits the door. There’s nowhere to go. “You’ve been using magic, haven’t you, Sannie?”

“No,” he says, but she tsks and shakes her head. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

There’s no way out of this, is there.

Jongho should be done in the basement by now, and Mingi will be stationed right outside to help them get out. No one’s near him in the house. He doesn’t have help. And even if he did—he won’t call. He’s breaking a promise, but at least they’ll free Hongjoong safely. At least Yeosang will be okay.

San’s not getting out of this. With or without their help

“When you use magic it slowly undoes what we did to protect you from it,” Dahye tells him. “We know you saw the computer room. You know what your pet fish was doing for us. Did you see the withdrawal?”

July, 2007. Yeah. He saw the withdrawal. 

Hybrid magic is powerful, Bang Chan is proof of that. His family is, technically, proof of that. But hybridized magic to this extent?

_ BURNINGBURNINGITHURTSPLEASE— _

“Fifty years’ worth of magic,” Kyuwon says. “All inside you.”

“You wouldn’t stop crying about that fucking fish,” Dahye says. “We had to make you forget. Which was a pity, because you were so. Damn. Powerful. To an extent we couldn’t even believe!” 

And where is that power now, when San is trapped against a wall by people who should love him for him and not the energy they’ve forced into his body? 

“When you forgot, you lost the ability to use your magic,” Kyuwon says. “All of it. Even the magic that came from us. Generations of selective breeding and for what? A child who couldn’t even lift a feather?”

“But your friend, the fae, was very helpful.” Dahye smiles, presses a hand to San’s chest, where the necklace rests. San doesn’t even have time to worry about what else they made Hongjoong do because he’s reaching up to pull her and it off, much too late. “And now, you will  _ be good for mother. _ ” 

He stops. Still, as a statue. Everything is white. 

It burns, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“My favorite child,” Mother says, distant now. Like out of a dream. “Give me a hug.” 

And he does. Something prickles under his skin where it makes contact with hers, almost burning, but he ignores it. Mother wants a hug. Mother gets a hug.

“Now,” she says, grinning, teeth on full display. “Go down to the basement and kill that fucking fish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oopsies  
> thats all for now hehe  
> ill update tomorrow probably  
> looking forward to the end of the year lmao


	15. yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san is entirely too competent and yeosang suffers for it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw violence (no gore)

He can hear them talking, in the big living room. His heart practically beats out of his chest. Being so close to them, despite having come very close to Dahye just recently, is unnerving. 

Jongho opens the cellar carefully, well versed in how the door operates, its tricks and catches. He closes it gently behind him, too, at Yeosang’s input that there is, in fact, a way to open it from the inside. 

They turn on the lights, at the bottom of the stairs, and spot Hongjoong in the same corner Yeosang spent fifty years in. He’s unconscious. 

“It looks like he’s hooked to the machine,” Jongho whispers. “Maybe they didn’t experiment on him like they did on Yeonjun…?”

_ Maybe. Cuffs first. Then computers.  _

Jongho cuts the chains instead of the cuffs themselves, worried that if he tried he’d catch Hongjoong’s wrists. He lays him gently on the ground, propped against the wall. “We’ll come back for you, hyung,” he whispers, and silently approaches the computer room. 

They’re lucky the family couldn’t get anyone else inside, because otherwise this place would be teaming with hunters. As it is, the computer room is entirely unguarded, and Jongho and Yeosang both take perverse joy in vaporizing the tech. One by one. They can’t use Yeosang’s magic, not while on the Choi land, so Jongho has to portion his own wisely, but still. He makes it work. 

Hongjoong’s still out when they get back to him, which can’t be a good sign. Jongho confirms that destroying the computers did disconnect him, which is a relief—the last thing Yeosang wants them to do is burn time scrounging for a spell that may or may not even be in the house.

Jongho picks Hongjoong up bridal style, groaning mentally about Yeosang’s twig arms (and his arms  _ aren’t _ twigs, thanks, not everyone can have Jongho’s inhuman strength) and quickly heads up the stairs. Whatever’s happening with San in the living room, it doesn’t sound like violence, but someone’s getting a little agitated. Not good. Hopefully he’ll be ok.

They make it out of the house without trouble.

“Where’s San?” Mingi hisses, gladly taking Hongjoong from Jongho, who’s panting a bit. 

_ You can complain about my exercise routine after I’ve had time to recover from being starved for fifty years. _

Is that always going to be your excuse?

_ The only good thing that came out of that… _

Too soon.

_ I think that’s my decision. _

“I don’t know,” Jongho says. “I didn’t see him.” 

“Should we wait…?”

Jongho looks at Hongjoong, then back at him. “You go. I’ll hang back.” 

“If you’re sure…?”

“Go.”

And Mingi does. They watch as he reaches the gates and quietly slips through. Yunho should be waiting just outside to take him back, so Jongho and Yeosang will have to wait for San, otherwise he won’t have an escape route. 

_ To be fair, we never decided how long he needed to hold them off. _

Yeah. That was an oversight. 

_ No kidding. _

I hope he’s okay… 

They don’t have to wait very long. 

“San,” Jongho says, relieved, when San exits the house. He’s smiling, reaching out, and the house behind him is quiet. But his aura… 

It’s white. Completely, stark white. White as the world Jongho had to visit him in, while he was still just a ghost. Bad, bad, sickly white. 

That’s not good. That’s not good at all.

_ JONGHO, RUN! _

Yeah. On it. 

He dodges a blast of fire, ducks under lightning. “Since when can your magic deficient ass handle  _ lightning?” _ he shouts at him, but San doesn’t respond. Not that either of them expected him to. 

_ What did they do to him…? _

Mind control.

_ No fucking shit, but how? _

Jongho ducks into a somersault to avoid a  _ giant slab of rock holy shit. _ “Yeah, I think I’ll ponder the what when why hows  _ after _ I extract your body from this extremely volatile situation?”

_ Yeah, okay, fair. _

Jongho’s never had the most solid grasp on his magic, and he  _ definitely _ is worse than San, despite San’s alleged failure to do more than kindergarten level spells, but he makes do. Relying more on trickery than brute force, which is sort of the opposite of San’s current technique. Hopefully that won’t change. Yeosang doesn’t think they could survive San actually thinking through his attacks. 

He only barely makes it off the property, at which point he buys enough time by closing the gate that he can pool his and Yeosang’s magic  and turn around and blast San with it. Just pure magic, no elements, just a force. It sends San back a few steps, but doesn’t even come close to stopping him. It’s enough, though. Jongho sets off at a dead sprint. 

_ Wait to recharge and then teleport. _

You’re shit at teleporting and I’ve never tried, do you  _ want _ to die?

_ I’d rather leave my fate up to that than to this. _

Jongho’s forced to a complete stop by a cyclone of wind surrounding him, proving Yeosang’s point. Luckily, both of their reserves charge up quicker under adrenaline, and  _ boy _ do they have a lot of adrenaline. 

_ Let me. _

The switch is quick, and Yeosang feels for the generator on the property—the closest water access point—and  _ yanks. _

Water—beautiful, beautiful water—crashes over the gate, shaking San enough that the cyclone vanishes. 

Keep an eye on our power levels. Tell me when we’re good.

_ Yup. _

Yeosang freezes half of the excess water and chips off bits to toss at San, and San does stop in his tracks to block them, but he also manages to animate the roots of nearby trees enough that Yeosang has to lift himself off the ground and twist to avoid them. 

Can’t keep that up much longer, he tells Jongho stiffly. 

_ You’re using more magic than you’re gaining. _

Yeosang groans, because he’s right, so he draws moisture from the roots out to the outer layers and freezes it, immobilizing them, then drops himself back to the ground. Unfortunately, this gives San enough time to regroup and press forward again.

I am, Yeosang thinks loudly as he narrowly dodges an entire frozen tree,  _ severely  _ hampered by my lack of desire to kill him.

_ Almost there,  _ Jongho mumbles distractedly.  _ Come on, just a little more… _

San opens his mouth and Yeosang recalls Jessi doing the exact same just in time to launch himself out of the way of an entire tunnel of fire.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Yeosang yells, dodging a lightning blast. “What the actual hell?”

San scowls and turns, leaping into the air to deliver a flying kick that sends crackles of pure magic directly at Yeosang, and he’s not fast enough to move—

_ Oh HELL yeah. _

Jongho wrenches control from him just in time to hold up his hands and twist his fingers in the magic like strands of hair and  _ pull.  _

San breaks off the connection before he takes too much, but Yeosang feels  _ alive,  _ body buzzing and adrenaline going haywire. 

San doesn’t even look winded.

They’ve doubled their collective reserves, and it didn’t even make a dent in what San has.

That. 

_ That _ is terrifying.

“Sorry, San,” Jongho says, quiet and guilty, and then dimensions fold in on themselves, his body squeezes and twists, and he  _ pops _ back into existence in the middle of Cap’s kitchen, where suddenly the groaning of trees, crash of water, crackle of energy, and cracks of ice breaking disappear, and the only sound left is his heartbeat, all the way up in his throat.

“Jongho?”

“Holy shit,” Jongho breathes, knees buckling. Seonghwa catches him. “That was the most stressful experience of my life. Death? Afterlife.”

The others, startled by his sudden appearance, crowd around him, making sure he’s okay. Hongjoong’s finally awake, and Mingi’s supporting him, but he’s still tired, blinking sleepily at them and maybe not quite processing what’s happening around him. 

At least they had one success.

“Where’s San?” Wooyoung asks, worried. 

“Ah,” Jongho says, grimacing. They all look at him expectantly. “Um.” How, exactly, does one explain this? “About that.”

* * *

The family knows Yeosang’s here, now, so he can move around semi-freely. He, of course, chooses to watch Wooyoung toss shit around his bedroom, because Hongjoong and Yunho have gone to talk to Chan and he really doesn’t have anything better to do. 

“Dude, how have you not worn this down yet?” Yeosang asks, holding up a shirt he’s about ninety percent sure Wooyoung owned when they lived together. “Also, I doubt it’s up to any trends.”

Wooyoung glances up at him, distracted, then snorts and yanks it away. “Wasn’t this a gag gift from Binnie?”

Oh, it so was. 

“Sentimental, then?” 

Wooyoung throws a sock at him. “Shut up.”

It’s nice to be back here. 

It’s nice to be talking with Wooyoung again, play-fighting like they used to. 

If only he could stop thinking about San.

“You’re getting in your head again,” Wooyoung says. He throws another sock, which Yeosang bats away. 

“Dude—was that dirty? Are you throwing dirty socks at me?”

“No,” Wooyoung says, cagey enough Yeosang doesn’t believe him. 

“Hey—stop it—” He ducks—boxers?? Gross. “That better have come straight out of the drawer, nasty.”

“Who are you calling nasty, Mr. wears one single pair of pants for a month?”

“I buy multiple of the same kind,” Yeosang protests. “And I—get this, revolutionary concept—wash them!” He does jazz hands and Wooyoung smacks him. “Hey!”

“If you’re not gonna help, get out of my room, smart ass.”

“You love me,” Yeosang says, wrapping himself around Wooyoung like an octopus. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when instead of protesting like he used to, Wooyoung slumps a little and says, softly, “Yeah. I do.”

* * *

Chan holds a town hall. 

It’s the first emergency meeting since Han drove the family out, so, of course, everyone’s on edge. 

“You all know what’s happening,” Chan says. Han, beside him, snorts. Chan sends him a reprimanding look. “And you know Han and I and the various other fae that live here can’t step in without incentive.”

“So we’re calling you here to say that despite their inability to act,  _ I  _ can help,” Changbin says. “And I  _ will _ help. There’s an army of hunters at our doorstep. At risk of sounding cliche, if we all stand together, we might stand a chance.”

“But we have a complication.” Grumbles, all around. Worried whispering. Yeosang bows his head, knowing where this is going, and Han doesn’t disappoint. “Choi San—you all remember him—has been trapped under mind magic. Unfortunately for us, he is—let’s put it this way.  _ Significantly _ more powerful than the rest of his family combined, which means for the first time, the hunters we fight will have notable magical aid.” He cuts his gaze to Yeosang, snaps his fingers and displays, in lights, Yeosang’s memory of the fight. 

It paints a bad picture of San, but it’s needed, to make sure everyone stays away. 

“If you see him,” Han says, and Yeosang refocuses, “Do not engage. Defense only. I’ll speak individually to the people that I think, from the description we have, can match him, but otherwise if you see him,  _ do not attempt to fight. _ Get yourself out of there.”

Yeosang wishes he were anywhere but here. 

“Chan and I can manipulate our environment,” Han says. “The weather, the terrain, medical assistance, anything we can do to help—we just can’t actively attack. We’ll be in the area, and we’ll be listening. Hopefully, if everything goes smoothly, you won’t need us. But it is possible that others like San have been…” he grimaces. “...augmented.”

They form plans that Yeosang doesn’t hear, too distracted by the rush in his ears, the worry, everything that just screams  _ what about San, what about San, what about San? _

Before he knows it, the meeting’s adjourned, though most stick around to ask further questions.

“So you found your rebel hunter boy,” someone says, and Yeosang turns to see—ah. 

“You came back.”

Hyunjin grins, inclines his head. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You can’t even do anything,” Yeosang says drily. 

“Maybe,” Hyunjin says, mysteriously enough that Yeosang decides he doesn’t want to know.

I _ want to know. _

Too bad.

“Jongho’s still around,” Hyunjin notes. “I didn’t expect him to stay.”

“He doesn’t really have a choice,” Yeosang says. “He’s kind of stuck with me.”

Hyunjin laughs. “Poor you.” And he wanders off to hover around Han.

Yeosang looks around, having lost his friends at the end of the meeting, and spots Yunho sitting sulkily near the stairs. He makes his way over and plops down in the space Yunho makes. “I don’t feel good about this,” he says quietly, watching as people go up to speak to Chan individually. They all seem nervous, but somewhat excited, too. Excited at the prospect of  _ finally _ driving off the hunters. 

“I know.” Yunho frowns. “But what are we supposed to do? Go against it? Go after San on our own? There’s seven of us, and only five will be any help in a fight. We can’t fight Chan, Han,  _ and  _ the family. Much less subdue San.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Wooyoung grumps, appearing out of nowhere and dropping down next to them. 

“I hope you don’t mean San.”

Wooyoung squints at him. “ _ No,  _ I don’t mean San.” He returns to glaring over at—probably Changbin? He’d just been talking to him. Clearly he didn’t like what he heard.

Yeosang gets it. But. It’s not war, but it’s a fight, it’s a big fight, and Wooyoung knows that. They all know that. Sometimes, in the grand scheme of things, it’s easier for people to die.

It doesn’t mean they have to be happy about it.

“You don’t blame Changbin, do you?”

“No.” 

“We’re benched,” Hongjoong says, appearing from the crowd along with Seonghwa and Mingi. He doesn’t look too upset about it, surprisingly. “Auxiliary at best. All six—seven, sorry—of us. Han wants us to stay back.”

“Are you—” Wooyoung begins angrily, already firing up in offense, but Hongjoong shakes his head.

“We’ll talk about it elsewhere. Prepare for a fight anyway, okay? Meet me at Cap’s in two hours.” And then he disappears back into the crowd.

“That’s not ominous at all,” Yeosang mutters.

“It’ll be okay,” Seonghwa says, and it’s not pity but there’s definitely something in his voice as he looks to Yeosang, looks almost through him.

Yeosang nods. “I hope you’re right.”

* * *

It’s strange to be back here.

It was turquoise, last Yeosang visited. It’s strange to see Cap’s lit up in warm reds and oranges but it suits the diner well, he thinks. 

Other than the color, everything’s the same.

He runs a finger over the counter. No dust at all. Just how clean does Seonghwa keep this place?

“He’s not going to speak to anyone.”

Yeosang looks up. The others have crowded into a booth, and Hongjoong lets the door slam shut behind him. “What?”

“Han,” Hongjoong clarifies. “He’s not going to tell anyone they match San. He’s making a gamble.” He looks at them all, focusing on each of them one by one. “He thinks San’s still reachable.”

“The three of them just couldn’t say that publicly,” Wooyoung breathes. “That is… probably not good leadership.”

“It’s politics,” Hongjoong says with a shrug. “I don’t think any of them ever claimed to be good people.”

“So what, we appeal to his humanity? He’s under a spell at best, ritual at worst. That’s not going to work.” Mingi says.

“It’s a spell,” Hongjoong says. 

And Yeosang notices the bruises under his eyes, for the first time really notices. Yeosang had assumed he’d just been tired from the magical exhaustion of holding up that equipment—which Yeosang would know a  _ lot _ about—but something’s weighing on him, too. He’s harboring something.

“They forced you to cast the spell,” Yeosang guesses. “You know what it is?”

Hongjoong grimaces, but doesn’t deny it. “It’s a necklace. And I’m guessing San’s wearing it.”

Ah. 

Well. 

That’s gonna be a pain to break. 

“So we’re screwed,” Yunho says, echoing Yeosang’s sentiments entirely.

“If Yeosang and Jongho can’t hold up against him combined then out of all of us only you stand a chance,” Wooyoung says, glancing worriedly over at Hongjoong. “But… you’re tired. And will Chan let you?” 

Hongjoong graciously ignores the tired comment. “Not  _ necessarily _ screwed.” He nudges Seonghwa to move over, to give himself space to sit. “We’re technically benched, remember? We’ll be far from the main fight, and the other fae will be concentrated there. If San  _ happens _ to find us here, no one will be watching me, and as long as we keep him contained, he won’t be able to tell any of the hunters that a fae breached contract.” 

It’s risky. It’s very risky. If they fail, there  _ will _ be a war, and Hongjoong will be the cause. 

“But I don’t know if I’ll be able to match San. He’s different, and we don’t know the extent of what he can do.”

Yeosang should’ve listened, when San said there was something they were missing. He should’ve listened. 

“What did they do to change him, though? He could barely lift things on command when we went in,” Yeosang says. “His control was abysmal. He had bursts of high power one minute and nothing the next—he and the magic were oil and water and now he’s terrifyingly in tune with it. So what’s different?”

It’s Wooyoung who speaks up, surprisingly. “He remembered.” 

“What?” Yeosang’s not the only one confused. 

Only Mingi seems to have a clue what he’s talking about. “The summer here? His would-be initiation summer?”

“Yeah. We know the family’s been gathering magic, right? Between the schools, and what they had you two hooked up to—” he gestures to Hongjoong and Yeosang. “—but where does that magic go?”

“There’s a spell—”

“I know there’s a spell.” Wooyoung shakes his head. “We both saw all the updated technology at the school. But are they just storing it?”

“There was a withdrawal from the reserve here,” Yeosang says. July, 2007. “They took out almost all of the magic that had been saved. I don’t know what they did with it, but that must’ve been what San’s grandfather was doing when he took him down to see me—” his jaw snaps shut. 

Wooyoung nods grimly.

_ I can’t believe we didn’t realize… _

You and me both. 

_ San _ was the expansion experiment. That’s why his magic was so volatile, why it wouldn’t respond to him despite the vast quantities he seemed to possess. It wouldn’t respond to him because it  _ isn’t his. _

But if San was a success… why take his memories? Why wait until now to resume testing?

“They put it in him,” Seonghwa says, once it’s clear that neither Yeosang nor Wooyoung are going to say it. “Magic skimmed from every species in South Korea. They took the melting pot and put it in San, then took his memory and locked it away so he wouldn’t know it was there.” A literal mental block. This takes knowledge is power to an almost frightening extent. 

“It’s—I guess it’s fundamentally possible to add magic to an existing magical core,” Mingi says hesitantly. “That’s what magical marriages are, aren’t they?”

Melding magic together. Completely mixing it so there’s no distinction between any one person’s magic in the partnership. It requires absolute trust, because it allows your partners unchecked access to your entire magic supply, and if you allow the wrong people to bind you to them, they can take advantage and drain your magic so you can’t fight back when they keep draining it. It’s complicated, and different than the current situation, but Yeosang can see what Mingi’s trying to get at. 

Yeosang and Jongho had pooled their magic to fight back against San, but that’s… also different. They didn’t meld it. Their magic works together because they grew up working together, doing trivial magic for pranks, stuff like that. They’re comfortable with each other. 

Whatever’s happening with San, it’s not either of those things. And it can’t be good. 

“That sounds more plausible than I’d like to admit,” Hongjoong says. “Which means San has fae magic, warlock magic, witch magic, mer magic, spirit magic, gumiho magic… any magic you can think of.”

“And that would make him ineffably powerful…” Mingi trails off. 

None of them can think of anything to say to that. Small quantities of every affinity… it’s terrifying to think about. Yeosang and Jongho only barely made it out when San had clearly only just reconnected with those powers, who knows what he’d be capable of with time. Much less, Ocean forbid, training. 

“And weaknesses that come with those powers?” Wooyoung prods. “Iron, fire, anything?”

“He could touch the gate,” Yeosang says. “So not iron.”

“I doubt weaknesses transferred over,” Mingi says. “But he’s still human. He has human weaknesses.” 

“So, physical,” Hongjoong says grimly. 

“And mental.”

Hongjoong nods, slowly. “I can build up a mental attack, but he might have enough magic to shield his mind that way. We have to count on getting close enough to physically stop him for long enough that one of us can take the necklace and destroy it.”

With that in mind, they’re able to come up with somewhat of a plan. They have time before Han’s scheduled the main attack, so hopefully San won’t emerge before then, and after hearing enough of the plan to understand that his role is, essentially, back-up, Yeosang settles in a corner and watches them talk. 

Hopefully it’ll be enough. 

_ It will. _

You don’t know that.

_ It will. _

You’re being an optimist again.

_ Yeosang. _

He tilts his head back, lets it thunk against the wall. Yunho gives him a concerned look but he waves him off. It’s fine.

_ We’ll get him back. _

Yeosang can’t find it in him to hope. 

* * *

The ocean air is cold. Wet, which is nice, but cold. 

“Nothing’s stopping you from going on a swim,” someone says.

Yeosang half turns, spotting Seonghwa as he comes to a stop by his side. “I’m just thinking.”

Seonghwa hums, and they look out at the water together. 

Yeosang wonders if he ever knew Seonghwa, in the past iterations. He doesn’t seem familiar, unlike Mingi, who Yeosang finds himself teasing like they’d been friends for years.

But if he knew Mingi, why wouldn’t he know Seonghwa…? 

“Do you think it’ll work?” He finds himself asking. “This plan…”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa admits. “I’d like to say I believe we have a fighting chance, but—” he gestures vaguely at the others. “If San’s really that much more powerful, who knows.”

“Yeah.” Yeosang scrubs his hands down his face, wishes, briefly, that he had something to rest his weight on. “Who knows.”

“But then again, if he’s that strong, shouldn’t he be able to break past the spell?”

_ He has a point. _

Does he?

San’s magic, in its natural state, may or may not have attempted to free him from the spell, but most of “his” magic  _ isn’t his,  _ it won’t be naturally inclined to throw off foreign magic, because it  _ is _ foreign magic. 

Maybe it’s naturalized itself, maybe is hasn’t. It depends on how strong San himself is, and as he’s a human magic user he might not necessarily be as apt at that as, say, Hongjoong would be. 

Or Han. But no one really knows how warlocks get their magic, so he’s a special kind of human. 

“Who are you to him?” Seonghwa asks quietly, very much directed in a direction Yeosang doesn’t like, and he’s sincere in his questioning but Yeosang just can’t answer. It’s too much right now.

“Mingi was right,” he says. “Appealing to him won’t work, no matter how much you think he cares about me. This isn’t a fairy tale. And anyway, I’ve known him for less than a month. Whatever feelings you’re imagining in him or in me are a lie.”

Seonghwa starts to respond but Wooyoung gets their attention, waving them over to the others where they stand huddled together.

“Think on it,” Seonghwa says. His hand is heavy where he places it on Yeosang’s shoulder, but he doesn’t let it linger for long. “You know him better than you think.”

Yeosang watches him go with a furrowed brow before kicking into gear and running to catch up. 

He can’t have meant—no. There’s no way.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> san Do be overpowered tho lmao
> 
> byeol's ok for anyone wondering. i didnt forget her i promise!! even tho i definitely have forgotten her for several chapters in a row
> 
> yunho took her to his and wooyoung's house to have a very long nap


	16. san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which san remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not a happy chapter 
> 
> im so sorry
> 
> cw TEMPORARY MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (i would call it semi-explicit, no explicit gore), blood, implied death of a child (same child as the... forth chapter i think?), attempted ritual(?) sacrifice of non-human person, fight scenes,, kind of 
> 
> also sorry if i slipped into present tense in a past tense section TT i tried to proofread but,,, i mightve missed some

In the end, it happens like this.

When San was eight, his parents took him on a summer trip to their family home in Haven. It’s a coast town, kind of in the middle of nowhere, in the southern end of Korea. No one really visits. None of San’s classmates had even heard of it— _ they _ all go on vacations to Busan and Jeju and Osaka. Don’t get him wrong—he did, too, he’d summered in Bali and Bangkok and Fukuoka and lots of other places. But this summer was different. 

“There’s still a beach,” his mom told him, turning back to smile reassuringly. He pouted and continued glaring out the window. 

“Honey,” his dad said. “We don’t want him swimming in those waters. You know those animals won’t even hesitate to eat him.”

“Are there sharks?” He asked, perking up. He’d only seen a shark once before and despite his grandfather shaking him a bit with his story, he thinks they’re pretty neat. 

“No, baby,” his mom said. “A different kind of animal.”

He sighed loudly, pointedly, and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. 

There’s silence in the car, not even the radio. He kind of wanted to peak, just to see if his parents were making faces, but he resisted. And soon they turn the music up, just a little, fooled by his act.

“He’s not ready,” his dad said, quietly. “We can wait another ten years for him to be an adult.”

“If we wait, we’ll keep pushing it off.”

“I know. But he’s just a kid, Dahye.” 

“He’s  _ our  _ kid. He should learn as soon as he can.” 

San didn’t really understand what they were talking about. He decided it didn’t matter, and let himself actually be pulled to sleep. 

* * *

His ghost didn’t like Haven. 

San tried to keep his eyes on his food, so his parents wouldn’t notice, but things kept flying up at random behind them and he was starting to get worried. They’d made dinner together, chicken parm, and he was trying to be good and finish but… 

“Are you alright, San?” Mom asked. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

She didn’t respond for a minute, before gently adding, “Your grandfather will be here on friday. He’s just stopping by for a few days.”

A glass shattered in the kitchen.

His parents both yelped, ducking a little. “What was that??” 

Silence, of course. the ghost didn’t respond to anyone but San. They didn’t  _ like _ anyone but San.

“Must’ve been wind,” Dad said, unconvincingly.

“The wind,” Mom agreed. “Of course.”

* * *

They went to the beach, the next day. Because San wouldn’t stop nagging until his parents exchanged a look, like,  _ I suppose we can humor him. Just once. _

Once there, his parents bought him the ice cream he wanted—an ice cream version of a Mars bar! He’d never seen it before, but he  _ wanted  _ it so bad and he was right because it was good—and he ran into a strange man. At that point his parents, somehow, were nowhere to be seen. 

“Hi, San,” the man said.

“How do you know my name?” San asked, confused.

“I know a lot of things,” the man said. “My name is… Seonghwa.”

“Hi,” San said, still confused. “Um… I’m gonna go…?”

“You’re very small,” Seonghwa said, wonderingly. “You’re so small, but you’ll wield so much power…” 

San decided to just run for it. He made it some point away, then squinted, looking for his parents, but he turned and accidentally crashed into a kid his age who just shouted in laughter and then they were giggling together and playing in the water—

It was—

He made a friend—

It was—

* * *

His heart was racing, and people were screaming, and he couldn’t find his parents and he didn’t know where he was and there was so, so much—he ducked under something and tried to get out of the way so people didn’t trample him because they’re running but someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back and he closed his eyes, waiting for something to happen—

“Hello,” he heard, quiet, and he peeked open one eye.

The noise was gone, as were the people. He wasn’t even outside anymore.

Instead, he’s in a small… store? There were plants on one wall, and trinkets all over the shelves.

In front of him, a man with really pretty hair smiled encouragingly, crouched to his level. Somehow, interspersed in the black of his hair were streaks of shimmering light, like fireworks, or like shooting stars. San stared, fascinated. “Choi, right? Your parents are Dahye and Kyuwon?”

San nodded, unsure. He didn’t remember hearing them come in the door…? Outside the windows there weren’t many people. How did he get here?

The ghost didn’t protest, though, so he must be okay.

“What’s your name?”

“Mom says never to give my name without getting a name first.”

The man snorted. “Most parents just teach stranger danger.”

San frowned, mouthing the phrase. It wasn’t  _ un _ familiar. 

“I’m Han.” The man held out a hand for a shake, and San obliged. “You can call me Hannie, or hyung.”

“San.”

“Choi San,” Han repeated, like he was testing the words. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” San said, smiling shyly. “Do you know my parents?”

“Yeah, I know them,” Han said. “I’ll bring you back to them, okay? I just wanted to get you out of the street—you looked like you were having a little trouble.”

“Thanks,” San said again. 

Han hummed, and made an “aha!” noise, turning for a moment to rifle through the shelves. “I recently bought something off someone… let me find it for you, alright? Do you like… dogs?”

“Cats!” San said, perking up. “I like cats.”

“Ah, cats!” Han turned to beam at him. “I love cats. I have a friend with three cats.”

“Three?” San said, eyes widening. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I catsit sometimes.” Han found what he was looking for and crouched in front of San again. “I’m gonna give this to you, for being brave out there, and since you like cats so much. Can you promise to keep this secret?”

San nodded enthusiastically, curious to see what it is. 

“Alright,” Han said, dramatically raising his clasped hands and twisting them together. “Here…” And he opened them, lifting one hand up and revealing, there on his palm… 

“Whoa,” San said, eyes as round as the moon. “Oh, it’s moving! It’s moving!”

There, on his palm, sat a small carved statue of a siamese cat. True to San’s word, it yawned, stretched, and blinked up at San. 

“She’s beautiful, hm?” Han held it out and San took it, still in awe. “If you want her to stop moving, all you have to do is scratch her chin.”

“Beautiful,” San repeated. He tried, once, then reanimated her by scratching again.

“Will you name her?”

San startled out of his reverie, and nodded, breathless. “Star,” he said. She preened at the name, and he giggled. “Byeol,” he cooed, petting her gently,  _ gently _ with a finger.

“Alright,” Han said, standing, and held out a hand. “Ready?”

“Ready,” San nodded, taking it.

What followed, San didn't really understand, but he knew that at the end, he was standing in front of his parents. 

“Lost something?” Han said, carefully emotionless, and his grip on San’s hand tightened.

Mom’s face did something funny, and she took a step forward but Han took one back, pulling San with him. “What do you want?”

“I want you to listen.”

San, confused, looked up at Han, then Mom. “Hannie…?”

“It’s okay,” Han said, not looking at him. “I just need your parents to listen to what I have to say.”

“So get on with it,” Mom said impatiently.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of Haven by the end of the week, I’ll chase you out myself,” Han said, entirely pleasant despite the words. 

“Bad words…” San whispered, shrinking back further. 

Han spared him a small regretful smile, a whispered apology, before returning to face his parents. “Know this, understand it. I’m not fucking around. You crossed a fucking line, today.”

“You’re one of  _ them _ ,” Dad said. “You can’t touch us.”

“I’m human, actually,” Han said. This, more than anything else, made them pay attention. “And a special case. The court is fickle about when it takes ownership for my actions. They don’t feel up for war this year, and they cast me out all the time only to bring me back.” He smiled. “I was cast out last week. I’d give it two moons for them to readmit me. Whatever will happen then has no bearing on now. I, as a human, can do whatever I want.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mom hissed.

“I would. So get out before I make you.” Han let go of San’s hand, nudged him forward gently towards them.

San, not really understanding, ran to his parents, who caught him and held him close. By the time the three of them looked back up, Han was gone.

* * *

San didn’t tell his parents about the cat figurine. 

Mostly because he felt ashamed. Ashamed he accepted a gift from a bad man who was threatening them, as his parents had explained. Instead, he took her—it—to his room, and scratched its chin to freeze it, and, with fumbling fingers, crushed it between heavy books and hid the pieces under his bed.

The next days passed slowly, as he wasn’t allowed to leave the house anymore, and there was  _ nothing  _ to do. 

He ended up bored enough that one day, when his parents were both out and left him food for dinner, meaning they’d be out for a while, he decided, what’s stopping him from going out? 

He wasn’t confident enough to get to the main beach, but there looked to be a small beach down under the house, and he saw a trail, too! So he headed that way, and inched down the steep cliff surface to get to the sand at the bottom. 

He took off his shoes, and giggled at the feel of sand between his toes before running for the water. He didn’t go too deep, worried about sharks, but he still splashed a bit.

“Oh?”

He whipped around, startled to see a man floating on a piece of driftwood in the water, just his head and arms showing, the rest of himself submerged. 

“Who are you?”

“Are you swimming out there?” San asked, longing.

The man hummed, turned, and before San could react kicked up a giant  _ splash  _ that covered San with water. 

“Hey!” San spluttered, shaking himself like a dog. “What was that for?”

“What else would I be doing out here?” The man asked, amused. “Of course I’m swimming.”

“Well, I don’t know,” San pouted. “Maybe you’re just lost.”

“That’d be a feat,” the man said. He peered at San curiously. “What are you doing down here, kiddo?”

“Playing,” San said seriously. “Mom and dad won’t let me leave the house anymore, but I snuck out!”

The man’s head tilted up. San guessed he was looking at the house. “Uh huh.”

“It’s boring,” San said. 

“Uh huh.”

“So what are you doing here?”

The man shrugged, giving him a sly grin. “Swimming.”

“Okay,” San said. The last time he was alone with someone… he didn’t let himself think about Byeol though, didn’t think about the pieces still under his bed, just said, “I’m going home now,” to the man and booked it up the hill. 

“Bye,” the man called after him. “See you around, San.”

And San ran faster, because the man knew his name, and Dad said the people in this town are all bad and all hate them and to never give his name out when he can, but the man knew anyway, which was bad.

When he looked at the water from the safety of the house, he couldn’t find the man at all.

* * *

San had mixed feelings about his grandfather. On one hand, he had cool stories and a missing hand, like a pirate! On the other… San was kind of scared of him. He could be scary. Very, very scary.

Like now.

“It’s important,” Grandpa told him gruffly, pushing on the pantry shelf. “Pay attention, San.”

San was paying attention. San was paying a lot of attention because he was very scared of whatever Grandpa wanted him to do. Mom and Dad told him to listen to Grandpa while they ran errands, but he really, really didn’t want to listen to Grandpa.

The stairs they took were creaky, and old. The smell coming from the darkness was so horrible, San’s eyes watered. 

Then the lights went on, and San screamed. 

“None of that,” Grandpa said, steering him past the man—the actual, living man—in chains. The man’s head moved to follow them, but Grandpa spit on him, and said, “eyes to yourself, freak.”

San can’t remember what happened after that. 

He just 

remembers

the burning.

* * *

His parents took him down to the small beach under their house. He was still shaking from what his Grandpa did, even if he didn’t actually know what he did. His skin itched, but scratching didn’t help. He didn’t complain. He didn’t want to bother them. 

On the big rock laid a woman. Or… a fish? No, definitely… a mermaid? 

“Mom? Dad?” He asked, confused, looking between them and… and her. 

Mom nodded to him. “Sannie… there’s evil in this world, do you understand? Evil like that.” 

The woman wailed, but when Dad got too close she snapped at him and San shrieked because her teeth were sharp. Sharper than human teeth. Sharper than mermaid teeth in  _ The Little Mermaid. _ Sharp, like sharks. 

“And it’s our job to get rid of evil. Like Superman, in that show you like.” 

He understood what Superman did. But this—the woman looked like she was in pain, and they weren’t telling him what she did to deserve this.

_ Freak, _ Grandpa had called the man in the cellar.  _ Abomination.  _

San wondered if that man was a mermaid, too. 

Mom hands him a knife. “Most people don’t know about the evil, so we have to protect them, okay? Starting now—you’ll learn to protect them, and soon, you’ll be a hero!”

It didn’t look a lot like protecting. 

The itching—the itching’s getting worse. He whimpered, and his Mom took it as reluctance because she pushed him forward. 

The woman thrashed, and hissed at him.

“I can’t,” he said.

“You can,” Mom urged. “Be a hero, Sannie.”

He shook his head. Maybe the man in the water earlier was a mermaid too. But he didn’t seem too bad. And—and they told him the entire town was bad and hated them but Han was friendly, his friend at the beach was friendly—

“Sannie,” his Dad said impatiently. “Just do it.”

“But I—”

“Do it!”

“I can’t—”

“DO IT!”

“I CAN’T,” he screamed, covering his face with his arms. “I can’t, I can’t—”

It stopped itching. The waves crashed unnervingly close. 

His friend from the beach—

What happened…?

“What happened to Jinsoo?”

“Who?” 

“My friend,” San said, beginning to get agitated, “from the beach.”

“Sannie, this whole town—”

“NO,” San shouted. “Jinsoo isn’t evil, Jinsoo’s a kid! Like me! Kids can’t be evil!”

“Sannie—”

The blood. He can’t remember, not really, but—

“You’re not protecting anyone!” 

“San—”

“Han was protecting the town! From YOU!” He knew that, with utmost certainty. Somehow. Maybe from the terror on the woman’s face. Maybe from the screaming at the beach. The blood. However he knew it, he knew it was true.

“San, that’s ENOUGH—”

One of them reached out, but he flinched away, and the itching—

The itching—

“NO!” San screamed, pitching back and forth, almost in a fit. “NO, NO, NO, DON’T TOUCH ME!”

“Sannie!” his mother cried, trying her best to stop him, grabbing his wrists, ripping them off where he’s scratching his face. 

“YOU HURT THEM,” San screeched. He threw her hands off him, and backed into the cliff. The water crashed harder, more violent. The wind picked up. “You HURT them! They didn’t do anything! Why would you HURT them?”

The itching inside him pulsed, pushing at his skin, clamoring to escape. He curled into a ball, unable to look at the woman on the rock, unable to look at the people he thought were loving and beautiful but are only ugly and cruel and horrible and stupid and mean and—

He blinked, and he was in his room. He hurried to scoop the wooden pieces out from under the bed, and sprinted to the closet, shutting the doors tight and pressing himself into a corner. Hiding. He won’t make it to the door. He had to hide. 

Han was right to threaten them. San shouldn’t have hurt Byeol. He shouldn’t have… he hugged the pieces to his chest, wishing he could undo it. But then there was a pounding at his bedroom door and someone saying, “Sannie?” The itching intensified. 

The door opened.

(The burning.)

He breathed heavily, curled into the back corner of his closet, eyes locked on the shadow under the door that grows closer with every passing second. The itching started to really, really hurt. (It burned, it turned his skin red and blistering, until it cracked, until it bled.)

_ There are monsters outside.  _

From within his hands, he heard a tiny  _ mrow. _

Distracted, momentarily, he pulled them forward, and was shocked to find—not a broken cat figurine, not even a fixed cat figurine—but a cat. A kitten. A tiny, tiny  _ living _ creature who looked right at him and nuzzled at his face.

“Byeol,” he whispered. 

And the door was wrenched open.

* * *

Flashes. 

They held him down, and poured something down his throat, and then—

Han, eyes burning, pushing San down and out of the way—

An explosion—

His dad found him—

They crammed into the car, and then they were off—

* * *

(He remembers what he remembers. 

But there’s more, isn’t there.)

* * *

_ Seven. _

San wakes up in a taxi. It takes him a moment to get a bearing on his surroundings, and he just about leaps into the air when he’s addressed. 

“What brings you to Haven?” 

The rain comes down hard on the windshield, hard enough that the wipers can barely keep up. San blinks up at them, then at the driver. “Uh,” he says. “Family stuff.”

The driver tsks. “Family’s always a fun reason to travel.”

San laughs drily. “Sure is.”

He remembers the rest. (Kind of.) He blinks through the memories, and stops (three times) when his gut tells him to. 

First time, he lands on a not unfamiliar scene. He’s wrapped around Yeosang as Yeosang’s wrapped around him, quiet. Yeosang’s asleep but San was woken by something—nightmare, maybe. He revels in the moment, of not knowing where his limbs end and Yeosang’s begin, of begin held and holding, of electricity—good electricity—on his skin where Yeosang touches. It’s quiet and peaceful and  _ good. _

Second, he sits in Cap’s with the other five. They’re hugging, quietly. There’s a feeling of impending doom, and San doesn’t know what it is. Hongjoong pulls San into one last long hug before he leaves. “I’m sorry,” he says. It feels achingly familiar. 

Third… 

“It’s okay,” Yeosang says. He hugs San, and San is… crying. He’s crying and they’re outside the house, and there’s a car coming up the driveway. The stench of blood permeates the air and San knows before his dad gets out of the car that it’s coming from him. 

“Move away from the monster,” he tells San, gun up, but San steps forward. 

“San, don’t—”

Everything’s too much. They’re  _ not going to die.  _ San won’t let his dad kill Yeosang, he  _ won’t. _ And it’s that determination that pulls the energy out of him, until he’s shaking and shaking and his dad drops the gun from shock and Yeosang’s screaming his name—

His vision vibrates and there’s  _ so much power _ until he’s drunk on it and it’s overrunning him and it spills out of his skin like a cup filled past the brim. Way, way past the brim. His nose bleeds his ears bleed and his vision greys out and he just feels. So. Much. 

Then nothing.

(His ears are ringing. 

San groans. His head aches. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. 

“Idiot,” someone says. “You know better than this.”

It can’t be Jongho. Jongho’s dead.

“So are you.”)

* * *

_ Six.  _

San wakes up in a taxi. He lives days that are familiar to him, but only just. He’s tired. He’s itching with energy, with adrenaline, with power. He’s so, so, tired, even if he doesn’t know why, and his grasp on his magic is lax enough that his emotions take over, unintentionally vaporizing the land that he stands on, left unsteady in a crater with Yeosang, who’s startled but just as tired as he is, and they don’t know each other but they run together anyway. 

And run.

And run.

And it is… 

Glorious.

Until they catch them, of course. Until his family catches them and throws them into a truck, bound and gagged, but they’re laughing between themselves, and Yeosang presses his forehead to San’s, rubs his cheek against San’s when the hunters aren’t looking, and San wonders, hazily, if this is what love is. 

The hunters are merciful, this time. They pry information out of San and leave Yeosang alone, and then force San to watch as they shoot Yeosang in the head. 

His own death is slower. 

He doesn’t even know if he would have died, if the magic hadn’t done it for him. 

Eating him, consuming, punishing his body for housing what isn’t rightfully his.

Eating until there was nothing left.

Until he’s completely faded away.

(His ears are ringing.)

* * *

_ Five. _

San wakes up in a taxi. 

He frees Yeosang.

And he leaves. Because Yeosang tells him to run, and pushes him, and yells insults they both know he doesn’t mean but that still sting like a bitch, enough that San lets himself hurt and lets himself leave. He stops by to say goodbye to the others, who don’t try to stop him. He hopes he’ll see them again.

But he can’t bring himself to go far, and that’s his undoing.

“No,” he says, again and again, as his dad drags him back. “Please, stop,  _ please.” _ But they don’t. 

Because they don’t care about what the traitor wants. 

They bring him to the rock.

Yeosang screams, bloody and ragged. Different from when San first found him in the cellar—this is fresh blood. There’s a knife in his stomach. His tail lashes, a desperate bid for freedom from a limb not intended for land. 

“This is what happens to freaks.” Dahye forces San’s head up. “Do you want this for yourself, San?”

Yeosang cries out, again, and San couldn’t close his eyes if he tried. He reaches out—not physically, but metaphysically, with magic, to aid or to comfort he doesn’t know—he reaches out and Yeosang stills momentarily. 

“We just want what’s best for you.”

“NO!” 

And Yeosang’s scream cuts out and all San can hear is his own.

Then there’s a sharpness, in his back, and he’s falling forward onto the rock, and he fades. As he goes, his eyes are drawn to the blue of the sea, and he thinks he can even hear it call.

(His ears are ringing. 

San groans. His head aches. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. 

“I’m sorry,” someone says. Quiet, mournful. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything to help.”

“Not your fault,” San says. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired.)

* * *

_ Four.  _

San wakes up in a taxi. 

He goes through the motions (even if he doesn’t know they’re motions.) He flattens some trees to get to the gnome who took the keys, leaves Yunho and Mingi in both awe and fear when he doesn’t remember doing it. Hongjoong is wary, this time. San doesn’t do much to inspire his confidence. 

He and Yeosang are the same. They’re always the same. Almost always. 

San frees him and they dance around each other and they fall together and they end up tied to each other, lying in tangled knots wherever they decide to sleep. Here, San’s still lying to himself. He’s only doing it for comfort. Yeosang is just convenient. Yeosang is there. 

San fights in a battle, this time, tired of being useless. He uses his magic and uses his magic and the burning comes back and Jongho tries to stop him, tries to get him to put it back in the box but—

It consumes him. 

And he bleeds red.

(His ears are ringing.)

* * *

_ Three.  _

San wakes up in a taxi. 

This time… this time is… 

He lets Yeosang out, but he  _ listens _ when his family tells him Yeosang’s a criminal, and he doesn’t protect him. So Yeosang’s returned to the cellar. 

And San puts him out of mind. And then he puts everything out of mind, as he’s forced to wield power he can’t control.

Dahye and Kyuwon start a fight, in attempt to get the fae to break contract and start a war, and the thing is—the destruction gets too far, the loss is too much—Changbin falls and Han  _ screams,  _ blowing half of their family’s army to pieces, and that’s that. 

The war begins.

San’s running ragged, at this point. He’s knocked to the ground with a single gust of wind, barely breathing, barely able to look up.

“I’m sorry, San,” Hongjoong says, and to his credit he does sound genuinely remorseful. He’s wearing his Cap’s uniform, San notes, dazedly. It’s no longer its original peach, it’s now completely splattered with blood. 

This one, unlike the others, is a mercy. 

(His ears are ringing.)

* * *

_ Two.  _

San wakes up in a taxi. 

He does everything right, he thinks. But he gets a little too curious and there’s no one to stop him and he wants to know, for sure, if that’s really Jongho’s grave—

He hears giggling in his ears and fingernails on his scalp, which is nice, but then he’s sucked into a vortex and pressed between dimensions and the magic rot spreads and spreads and spreads and—

(His ears are ringing.

“Idiot,” someone says. “You know better than this.”)

* * *

_ One. _

San wakes up in a taxi. 

He’s never done this before. 

He doesn’t know what his parents have done, doesn’t know how to deal with the man in his cellar who should be dead but isn’t. Ghosts are one thing. Sirens are another. He’s paranoid, too, because sirens can sing humans into doing anything, and what says Yeosang hasn’t done that to him already?

So he doesn’t let him go. Because if Yeosang were singing to him, he’d have made him let him go. 

His parents arrive and kill, again and again. San watches as they kill. 

Again.

And.

Again.

Yeosang’s barely a blip on his radar. 

(And Yunho. And Wooyoung.)

And the machine? It’s a success. 

Almost. 

Haven, surprisingly, puts up the biggest fight. Magic drains from Korea’s land but Haven walls itself off and that one, single stronghold is enough that nothing drastic happens to the world. 

Not yet.

It lasts for two months. 

At that point, Han teleports into their house, knocks them all flat, says, “My warning has always stood,” and unceremoniously levels the entire piece of cliff. Them, and their machine, included.

Which of course puts a wrench in quite a few of their plans.

(His ears are ringing. 

San groans. His head aches. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. 

“Idiot,” someone says. “You fucking idiot. All that time I spent guiding you towards the right path and you fall right back in line, a good little soldier, doing what they fucking wanted you to do.”

Strong arms wrap around his torso, bodily dragging him through the dirt. Jongho? But he’s…?

“So are you,” Jongho says. “Come on. Get up.”

San scrambles to his feet, disoriented. The world is white. So, so white. “What are you—”

Jongho punches him. Right in the face. 

“Ow,” San gasps, keeling over. “What the fuck?”

“You just  _ watched him die,”  _ Jongho snarls, and wow he is  _ pissed. _ “You did  _ nothing,  _ just  _ stood there—” _

“...who?”

“YEOSANG.”

He waves his hand, and San sees—San  _ sees,  _ for the first time what they did.

He sees the schools.

He sees the magic of the land collapse.

He sees people—sees what happens when their magic is ripped away.

“I’m sorry,” San says, backing up. “I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t know what the hell to do, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! I was thrown into that world without a warning two fucking weeks ago! I didn’t have anyone! How was I supposed to know I shouldn’t believe my parents? How am I supposed to know who to trust? I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know anything about any of those people and they… they had a point, about hunger and wars and I—” He stumbles, crumples to the ground. “I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Well you picked the wrong fucking path.” Jongho groans, scrubs a hand down his face. He isn’t as angry anymore, to San’s relief. There’s pity in his expression. Pity is fine. Pity won’t kill him a second time. Jongho sits opposite him. San watches him warily but he doesn’t make any aggressive motions. 

“I’ll fix it,” San says. He’s determined. 

“You can’t—”

“I can. I’ll fix it.” There’s a knot in his stomach, building every time he says it. “I can do it. I’ll fix it, and I’ll find Yeosang, and I’ll save him.” His skin itches. 

“You’re  _ dead, _ San,” Jongho says, but San’s not listening. 

“I’ll fix it,” he says, with utter conviction, one more time, speaking it into being, and then the world is fading, and Jongho’s reaching out for him, surprised and worried, as he falls back and back and back. 

His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His head aches. San groans.

His ears are ringing. 

Find Yeosang. 

Find Yeosang.

_ Find Yeosang.) _

  
  
  
  


_ Eight. _

  
  


San wakes up in a taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof


	17. yeosang and san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which yeosang makes a sacrifice, san learns the power of friendship, and jongho makes an important choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw- violence. graphic depiction of battle. minor minor gore. TEMPORARY MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. yes, temporary. i promise. 
> 
> some of this came uncomfortably close to being an allegory for depression. it wasn’t intentional but there are some themes that might feel similar. at some point there is a mention of not wanting to die, but not really wanting to live either
> 
> ive been there before, and i just want to preface this with—if you see yourself in fic!san please dont take any of this as mental health advice, if you feel like that please do talk to someone about it, dont bottle it up
> 
> i hope all of you have a good new years <3

Turns out, Yeosang isn’t back-up. 

Yeosang is bait. 

Yeosang is very disgruntled, very reluctant bait. 

_ At least they didn’t make you dress in a costume or something.  _

Stop laughing. 

_ I’m not laughing. _

You’re laughing.

_ Nooooo. Im picturing you in—you know Orange Caramel— _

I’m gonna stop you there.

_ But I just— _

Jongho.

_ Alright, fine. Whatever. _

He rolls his eyes. 

This side of town is eerily silent. They’d chosen the most remote parts they could, trying to account for property damage, but Haven’s small, and San’s powerful, and Yeosang honestly doesn’t think what part they choose to start in matters. 

_ Minute. _

He lets out his minute-ly puff of glitter. 

They’d decided since the family tracked him by magic before, they would probably track him by magic again, and specifically him because he was on their property, and he’s the only one besides Hongjoong and Yeonjun (the latter of whom is fairly clueless) who knows even a little of what they’re doing. 

And they technically can’t touch Hongjoong anymore.

“I feel like I’m pspsps-ing a cat,” he grumbles. 

_ I mean… _

He’s not a cat.

_ ….sometimes… _

Yeosang staunchly does not think about cats cuddling. 

It’s still quiet.

Han must be rallying, at this point, but they can’t have attacked because Yeosang would hear it, by now. 

_ BACK. _

Yeosang takes a very generous step back just in time to dodge a giant—is that iron?—spear. Or. Not spear. It’s a piece of a gate.

“Uh huh,” he says, taking off at a sprint. “He’s upgraded to weaponry now, awesome.”

_ Yeosang. _

Kind of busy. 

_ This is  _ important _. Did Wooyoung tell everyone that San has a black belt? _

Oh, shit. 

_ That’s a no. _

Well. Hopefully he does that soon.

_ You’re all fucking hopeless. DOWN. _

He ducks. Oh, a magic whip. 

Cool.

_ Not cool. _

Captain Obvious… 

They’re charged enough that he can twist and throw a net of magic, tightening it around San. it won’t hold him, but it’ll slow him down. San trips over it, lands face-first in the dirt, but doesn’t make a noise, just looks up at Yeosang even as he continues to run.

_ I don’t think… I don’t think he can feel pain. _

Um. That’s not good.

_ No. It’s not. _

They make it to their rendezvous point, thankfully, just in time for a burst of magic from San as he vaporizes the net.

Hongjoong’s quick to shield the area, not letting anyone in or out, hopefully containing all of them for as long as it takes to get the necklace. San looks behind him at the section of it closest to him but then he’s distracted by Yunho blasting him with a steady stream of rocks and dirt.

San throws up a shield, and forces it to expand outwards quickly in a move whose shockwave pushes all of them off their feet.

Well. Almost all. 

Hongjoong takes the opening and zooms up close, aiming to grab the necklace, but San blocks him last minute, grabbing his wrist and using it to toss him back. Hongjoong does a flip to land light on his feet behind Wooyoung, and, entirely unruffled, tries again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

The sky is grey. 

San sits up. A wave crashes and the water—a little muddy—rushes up, touching his toes, then retreats back out.

Someone sits down next to him. 

He’s used to that, of course, but he’s used to it being Jongho. He’s used to the sky being white and the water crystal clear. But the sky is grey, the water is muddy, and it’s not Jongho next to him. 

“You remember.”

San laughs, but it’s not a good laugh. It’s involuntary, hysterical, forced out of him by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “Seems like I do.”

Seonghwa pats his shoulder. “Took you long enough.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

The waves continue to crash, barely touching San’s feet, retreating. 

He doesn’t need time to process the influx of memories. They’re not new, he never even lost them—they were just hidden in the back of his head, far in the recesses. In a place that he shouldn’t have been able to find without the memories, but he couldn’t get the memories without the place, and it should have been a paradox but he came back to Haven, without his parents there to stop him. He came back, and he found Yeosang again, and he got him out. Finally fulfilling his promise. 

“I thought you were human. But I saw you—the beach, on the day that—” on the day his parents killed a kid.

Seonghwa pulls a face. “Mm. Human, ish. I’m more human than you are, with your fae blood.”

He’s not going to get used to that anytime soon. Seonghwa, correctly reading his disgruntlement, continues.

“Like your mother said—the magic in your family is engineered. You figured it out, didn’t you?”

“Arranged marriages,” San mutters. “Selective breeding. Increasing magical ability with each generation.”

“Creating the perfect hunter,” Seonghwa agrees. 

_ Dear god. _

“Not quite.”

“No?” San tilts his head to look at him. The water is peaceful, here, and it’s a pleasant break from the outside world, and he doesn’t want to leave, ever. 

“Hm. I’m human, but I’m also a concept. I’m a concept that chose to be human. A concept, but folded into human so many times that I’ve fooled even myself into thinking, subconsciously, that I’m just a human.”

Ugh. San’s not in the mood to even try to parse that. “What concept?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Seonghwa waves a hand. “What matters is I’m here right now, and you’re here right now, and you’re  _ hunting _ your friends out there, right now.” He waves at the expanse of the ocean, as if to encompass everything that is the outside world. 

San frowns. “It’s not me.”

“They know that. But you’re hunting them anyway.”

He doesn’t want to go back. 

It’s so nice here. Peaceful, in a way that his life has never been. He could stay here forever and be happy, even if Seonghwa left him.

“Don’t think that way,” Seonghwa whispers. “We need you out there, San.”

Maybe they do. 

But he doesn’t owe the world anything. And it’s comfortable here. 

The outside world hurts. 

He’s staying inside.

* * *

Hongjoong pulls back, and Wooyoung stands, immediately, to take his place. He doesn’t push forward like Hongjoong did, but he keeps San’s attention away from the others.

Mingi’s behind a building, crouched out of sight, and Seonghwa’s with Yunho, who both are closer to San than Yeosang is.

It doesn’t take Hongjoong long to recharge, but it’s still enough time for San to get close to Wooyoung and for Wooyoung to shriek,  _ “STOP!” _ , a wall of water rising from the ocean behind him and crashing down on the entire area they’re occupying.

San doesn’t move for a moment and—did Wooyoung’s Song command actually work on him? But he twitches, so it doesn’t work for long. 

Wooyoung reaches out and freezes the water coating him, pulling in more to keep building up the coat. He doesn’t pause, layering more and more—and inside San starts to glow, generating heat enough to melt the ice from the inside, and pushing that heat out and out—

And y’know how blenders and fancy glass mugs always say don’t heat or cool too fast, since the extreme change in temperatures can cause, uh… breakage? Yeah.

The ice is still at least a meter thick by the time San can move, and he pulses one, twice, and the inside heats enough that  _ boom,  _ the rest of the ice explodes outward from the pressure. Yeosang liquidises the pieces that come near him, reforming them into a pole, and throws it. San pulses with heat again and it doesn’t even hit him, just melts when it gets close enough.

San notices him, though, which is maybe not good.

He’s in front of Yeosang before he can react, frowning at him, and Yeosang opens his mouth to talk because maybe Seonghwa had the right idea but Wooyoung starts to say  _ “San—” _ and San twists his hand and a gag forms around Yeosang’s (and presumably Wooyoung’s, given that his voice cuts off) mouth. Yeosang pushes him back with everything he can, but San barely budges, twisting Yeosang’s arm so he’s forced to turn or let San break it, simultaneously shoving him face-first into a wall.

_ Why aren’t you  _ fighting back? 

I can’t… I don’t want to hurt him… he’s human.

_ Do you think he’d be happy to know you just let him do this?  _

San presses harder, and Yeosang grits his teeth but he doesn’t even get to make a decision before San is bodily yanked off him, and Hongjoong’s going for the necklace but when he makes contact he yelps and lets go, cradling his hand. San kicks at Hongjoong and uses him as a launching pad to jet away, landing out of his reach. “It’s iron!” Hongjoong yells, channeling that frustration into the air around him, stirring up the weather. Clouds roll in quick, grey and thunderous and full of water.

Lightning strikes just left of San, likely aiming to startle him. The thunder is deafening.

Hongjoong and Yunho won’t be able to grab it, since it’s iron. Mingi’s completely out of the question, Seonghwa shouldn’t get close. 

It’ll have to be Wooyoung or Yeosang.

Wooyoung knows this, too. Yeosang meets his gaze and all he can see is terror.

* * *

“Are you a manifestation of my conscience?” San asks. They’re in the clearing now, the one by Jongho’s grave. The cross is gone. The weeds have overgrown in the area where it would have been. The faerie ring remains, but only just. 

Seonghwa snorts. “What makes you think that?”

A lot of things. 

San stares at the sky. He thinks he can see constellations, even if it’s daytime. “You’re here to tell me to go back to the real world. Seems like a very Jiminy Cricket job.” 

“Maybe.” Seonghwa sits next to him. San hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t sitting before. “Maybe I’m just someone who cares about the same people you care about. Maybe I just don’t want to see you or any of the others get hurt.”

“More the others than me, though, right?” San smiles wryly up at him. “Look at what I’m doing. What’s happening because of me. How can you care about me like you care about them when I’m the one causing them harm?”

“It’s not you—”

“I’m the common denominator,” San says. “The catalyst. All those runs I did, every change I made—nothing worked.” He laughs, hysterical. “It’s me. In every run, I wake up in the taxi on the way to Haven. I can’t turn back. I don’t turn back. If I had minded my own business—”

“You had an iteration like that, didn’t you? Where you minded your business? You took Yeosang and ran away.”

It was one of the worst endings, San thinks. But one of the best times living.

“It’s not you.”

“It is. Even if I’m not causing it I’m failing to stop it—”

“No, San, just think about it.”

And San does. And Seonghwa doesn’t speak. At least not right away. Instead San listens, and hears the wind, and the water, and the leaves. The sound of a twig snapping as some animal steps on it. Birds chirping. 

“I can’t keep doing this,” San whispers. 

Seonghwa sighs. He’s quiet, then, for another long moment. “I know.” 

* * *

“DOWN!”

“This isn’t working,” Yeosang hisses, pulling Yunho back. Mingi had picked his way over to pry the gag off using some sort of magical pressure points or something, despite Yeosang trying to tell him to stay back with his eyes, and though Yeosang isn’t going to risk trying to sing a Song for fear of San taking even further steps to keep him quiet, it is nice to be able to talk. “Hongjoong’s getting too tired, and Wooyoung and I can’t get close enough to make a difference.”

Hongjoong’s leg makes a horrible snapping noise under the pressure of whatever San’s doing—Yeosang can’t tell, but it looks to be air related—but Hongjoong just breathes, harshly, out his nose, and nearly hits San with lightning. Would have hit San, if he hadn’t moved. It does the job anyway, and he breaks focus.

Hongjoong reforms his bone as he stands. Yeosang has to look away.

Wooyoung leaps, with San distracted, but San notices and throws him back onto some of the rubble they’ve created. Wooyoung groans, and twitches, and stops moving. He’ll… probably be fine. He’s not dead, at least. Yeosang tries not to worry too hard. They’ve been trying to drag San into the water, tumultuous as it is now with the storm, because the two of them have the upper hand in their domain, but nothing’s worked, so far.

“I know.” Yunho tries something, but whatever it is fizzles out before it reaches San. “We can’t keep holding out like this.”

“Just a little longer,” Seonghwa says, gaze intent on San. “Just hold out a little longer.”

Hongjoong screams, from somewhere ahead, and all of them snap to look. Yeosang shudders. “I don’t think we can.”

* * *

“So you’ll just let this happen?”

San shrugs. “Maybe.” He tugs at the strings of the carpet. “I’m tired, Seonghwa.”

“So am I,” Seonghwa says. “But that’s not stopping me from trying.”

“Trying? Trying to what?” San gestures at the two of them, sitting in the room, the abnormally silent and tranquil room. The ocean’s gone, the forest is gone, the beach is gone, the city is gone. It’s just the room, and the door. Them, the room, and the door.

“Talk to you.” He stands, gestures to the door. “It’s not that far of a walk, San. You can make it.”

“But I’m comfortable,” San mumbles. He rolls over, hugs the plushie closer to his chest. He doesn’t want to open the door. Outside is scary. There are monsters outside.

“San,” Seonghwa pleads, but San shakes his head. “You only feel this way because of the spell, you need to  _ snap out of it _ .”

“It won’t change a thing.”

“Look at what you’re doing,” Seonghwa says. “Face it. You can’t hide in here forever.” The TV comes to life in a sizzle of static.

“It’s not me,” San says.

“No,” Seonghwa agrees. “But you’re doing nothing to stop it. So it might as well be.”

* * *

Yeosang can’t feel half of his body. He drags himself up, anyway, tries to heal, but he doesn’t have much left in him. 

_ Water. _

I know.

He tries to be careful. He tries.

San catches him anyway, knocks him down, presses a hand to his chest so hard Yeosang can hear his ribcage creak. 

But San hesitates.

Yeosang wonders why his hand isn't on his neck. Because it’s a classic weak point, right? Squeeze a little too hard, and you collapse the respiratory tract. Twist your hand the wrong way, and it’s instant death. But his hand is on his chest.

And San is still hesitating.

Yeosang reaches up, shaky, and San lets him touch his cheek. He’s frowning, and he presses harder, and Yeosang wheezes, but it’s  _ something. _

He goes for the necklace and San grabs his wrist, freeing his chest. He stares at him. There’s something, Yeosang thinks. Recognition, or—or something. San’s grip tightens and Yeosang is abruptly reminded of where they are. What they’re doing.

“Please,” Yeosang chokes, scrambling up, straining to pull free, because he can’t fight anymore. Physically, metaphysically. He can’t. “San, please—”

And San sends him flying.

He can’t control it, can’t direct himself, can’t stop, he has the mobility of a ragdoll, and he braces himself to land on the unforgiving rubble, but then. He crashes and thinks, for a moment, that he’s died, as the cold washes over him—but he’s alive. He’s alive, and water fills his lungs—San had thrown him into the ocean. 

He  _ knows  _ Yeosang’s mer. He  _ knows  _ the ocean will heal him. He could have easily tossed Yeosang into a building, crushed his spine like a soda can, and yet… 

As he sinks down into the welcoming depths, he thinks—

Seonghwa was right.

_ Holy shit. _

Seonghwa was  _ right. _

* * *

“Look,” Seonghwa demands again. 

“I don’t want to watch,” San says. 

“So wake up.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“It could be.”

“It could be?”

“If that’s how you want it to work. It could be.”

“...” 

“We’re in  _ your _ head, San. Not mine. Not Yeosang’s. Not Jongho’s. Not your mother’s. Yours.” Seonghwa sits back, gaze intent on San.  _ “You _ decide the rules.” He gestures at the room. San looks around. It is strangely familiar.  _ “You _ decide the scenery.” It’s his childhood bedroom, isn’t it? And that’s why he’s here, in the corner of the closet, and not opening the door. 

_ There are monsters outside. _

His parents were lovely people. Perfect people. He loved them. He loved them until the day they pressed a knife in his hand and pointed him at an innocent woman—mer or not—and maybe they took his memory, maybe they thought they could erase it, but he knew, on some level.

On that day, to him, they became monsters. 

_ There are monsters outside. _

Maybe they always have been monsters, and he just didn’t notice. 

“It’s too much,” he says, shaking his head, but he hears—quiet, muffled, far away—he hears someone say,  _ “please.”  _ Pained, pleading.

He knows that voice.

“Yeosang?” San asks, twisting in a circle, trying to find him. He’s not here, of course, but—but San can hear him.

_ “San—” _

“What’s happening?” San asks, urgent. “Why is he—”

“I told you,” Seonghwa says, and the TV makes a noise, fades to static, makes a noise, like a radio trying to tune. “You’re killing them.”

* * *

Yeosang floats, aimless, waiting, as the waters knit his muscles back together, heal his nerves, break and reform his bones. It hurts like hell, of course, but what else can he do? 

He knows the battle’s still going on the surface, he knows that he’s useless even fully healed. They haven’t landed a scratch on San.

So instead of swimming up, he lets his tail come out, and swims down. 

The ocean is beautiful. Peaceful. He swims past sealife of all kinds, committing it all to memory. Revelling in the water streaming through his fingers, the kick of his tail. Taking a moment to bask in it. Taking a moment to memorize the feeling.

“I need help.”

**You have to give in order to take.**

He knows.

_ No, no— What are you doing? _

Giving.

_ You love the ocean, you can’t— _

I can.

_ Yeosang, think this through. _

Our friends are  _ dying.  _ I have to. Even if I have to give up an entire piece of myself—

**Silly child,** the Ocean says, amused.  **To think I would leave you with nothing.**

And the Ocean takes what he offers.

He chokes, immediately, gills gone. His legs wave uselessly, because he’s never swam with legs before, used to using his tail. The pressure threatens to collapse his lungs. His vision dots with black and he edges onto unconsciousness.

And then the Ocean gives.

Jongho pulls control to conjure air into his lungs, to regulate the pressure around him, build an air bubble like a miniature submarine. And then he returns the reins to Yeosang. 

_ You’re welcome. _

Thanks.

He… he feels the ocean. He’s aware of it as he never was before. Every fish, every piece of seaweed, every shark, whale, eel, anemone, coral—everything. He’s aware. 

(He remembers, too. Not everything. Just flashes. Feelings. Pulling San into a hug. Dying. Living. Running fingers through hair.)

The moon pulls down on him, and when he closes his eyes he sees the other side of the world.

The waves crash. The ocean pushes, pulls, recedes, expands. He buzzes with the influx of magic, electrifying, lighting up every nerve in his body.

The rhythm is beautiful.

**I’ll be watching you,** the Ocean says once more.  **Go on.**

_ Ready? _

Ready.

And they burst out of the water, taking everyone by surprise.

“What have you  _ done?”  _ Wooyoung rasps, staring at him in horror. Tears streak down the grime on his face. He must’ve felt the choir bond break. He must’ve thought Yeosang was—

“I’m sorry,” Yeosang says. We’re losing, he doesn’t say. They all  _ know _ they’re losing. It doesn’t need to be said.

San turns to face him, and now, Yeosang feels ready. He’s fully healed now. This extreme power boost won’t last forever, but hopefully the Ocean wasn’t lying when they said they wouldn’t leave him with nothing.

Hopefully.

“Only you can save yourself,” he shouts, hoping,  _ hoping  _ it reaches San, however deep he is in his own head. “San, come on, fight it!”

San, of course, merely frowns, and rushes at him head on.

They clash, and Yeosang holds his ground. It’s quick—too quick—San throws raw magic and Yeosang moves, catches it, slings it back. San doesn’t react but it slams into him, throws him back at least a meter, and when he lowers his hands Yeosang can see blistering.

It’s the first real hit any of them has gotten in.

“Okay,” Yeosang breathes, settling. He pulls the water from the clouds of Hongjoong’s ongoing storm, swirls it fast enough that it stands on its own, a mini-cyclone. He directs it to surround San but San flat out halts the wind, hijacking the water and throwing it back in the form of ice. He follows it up with lightning as Yeosang melts the ice attack, and Yeosang only barely manages to redirect it before it hits the water and—well. He’s human now. That would’ve been bad. Fatal, bad.

Yeosang fires raw magic again, and it’s fast enough that it catches San’s shoulder even as he ducks. He barely dodges San’s return fire. Fire again, from both of them, and Yeosang supersizes weeds he didn’t know were there and directs them until San blows them up. They’re locked in a stalemate, countering and countering and countering without any real victory for either of them.

But Yeosang can already feel it taking its toll—he doesn’t know how much time he has left of this power.

Hopefully it’ll be enough.

* * *

“If mind control is that easy to undermine, how is it ever used?”

San is still sitting, staring suspiciously at the door. 

“It’s not,” Seonghwa says. He thumbs through a book, and San twitches a little when he realizes it’s his childhood diary.

“Then why are you saying it is?”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow at him. “What was it everyone says? Your family—”

“Special, yeah. Got it.” San lays down with a thunk.

“But in all seriousness,” Seonghwa says. “You’re special because you have me.”

“You.” San squints up at him. “Because you’re a concept.”

“Exactly.” Seonghwa’s gaze strays to the TV. “Though it looks like you’re not the only one, anymore.”

The picture is only clear for a moment, but that moment’s all he needs to spot Yeosang, framed by towering waves, reaching out to him urgently.  _ “—fight it!” _ He’s saying.  _ “San—” _

“You’re more powerful than you know.”

San’s gaze strays to the door.

“If you’re a concept, why can’t you intervene?”

“There’s a balance in nature,” Seonghwa says. “I can’t tip the scales. A human could—a human can.” He places a hand in San’s hair, combing through the strands, and San’s never been more aware of the burning as the magic inside him rebels against the touch. “We don’t give power over easily, San. But I’ve seen the outcomes of every loop. You asked for help, and I answered. And now, you can return the favor, and fix what your family broke.”

But it’s so peaceful here, away from the world.

“Why do you care? About them, about me? Aren’t we just a blink of the eye to you?”

Seonghwa sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“So? We have time.”

He barks a laugh. “Yes, I guess you do. You have Time, rather.” San frowns, not hearing the distinction. “When you died the first time—you remember it now, no? You didn’t move on. You stayed, like Jongho, because you had unfinished business. You stayed in limbo. And you carried all that power into limbo with you. The power that you can’t wield without immense pain, the power that can’t be physically handled by a body. With your parents’ spell, you can do more than you could without, due to the spell’s implied lack of self-preservation, but even still you have physical limitations. In limbo, you were able to unleash your full ability—the ability that unintentionally brought Life to a wooden cat, but magnified by hundreds. And you were so determined to change what happened, that your magic did it for you.

“You folded time, San. Without my help.” Seonghwa smiles, melancholic. “I took notice.”

“You visited me,” San says in realization. “You went back. Before the loops. But after, at the same time?” If he looks closely at that memory, he sees double. One, with Seonghwa. One, without.

Seonghwa nods. “It’s difficult to explain with your human understanding of dimensions. I don’t want your head to explode. But yes, I went back before the loops started at the start of the second loop. I’d been floating aimlessly for quite some, well, Time, and I was curious. So I visited as a human. I wanted to see what was special about Haven.”

“And then you stuck around.”

“And then I was adopted by a hyperactive dog spirit and his Siren roommate,” Seonghwa says, fondly. “And Hongjoong…” he laughs, a little, to himself. “He’s special to me. But that’s neither here nor there.” 

On the screen, as if on cue, Yeosang fizzes back into focus just as San hits him with a shard of ice, sharper than it should be. He yanks it out and heals, quick, but the blood still remains. 

It’s so peaceful here… 

But… he was hiding, wasn’t he? In the closet. With Byeol. And his parents… 

If he ran, he would’ve made it.

Why did he think he wouldn’t?

_ Monsters…  _

“I just wake up,” San deadpans, raising an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa says, smiling genially. “Whenever you want.”

San stands. The door is so far away, but he takes a step. One step.

It’s enough.

* * *

San shakes his head, faltering, and Yeosang tries to use the opening to duck under the fanned blast of fire and grab at the necklace.

No dice.

Wooyoung’s healing in the water, and Hongjoong’s recovering as fast as he can, helping Yunho along as well, using the time Yeosang’s buying them. But Yeosang can feel his own power receding quick, the end of a tidal wave, and he has to make the most of it while he can so he gets close, wraps himself around San and immobilizes him. Hongjoong takes the opportunity to grab at the necklace and  _ pull,  _ despite the iron leaving welts and sizzling where it makes contact with his skin.

San breaks Yeosang’s magical restraints and shakes them off, and Yeosang doesn’t catch himself in time—he lands wrong on his ankle, groaning in pain, wobbling and tilting over. San rises in the air to get away, hovering several meters above ground, but Yeosang can see that he’s tiring too. Tiring, or hesitating. Either way.

Hongjoong rises to meet him, and Yeosang’s magic is almost gone.

* * *

San’s making a conscious decision. He knows that. He’s making the decision to not just let go. He’s making the decision to pick himself up, to not wallow in the circumstances both he’s created and have been created around him. He takes step, after step, and it’s slow, but he gains determination the closer he gets.

He has a  _ reason  _ to wake up. A reason to walk to the door. Before Haven, he floated through life. He was… he wasn’t sad, but he was empty. He had no purpose.

His friends are fighting for him to come back. They could be fighting to kill, he knows that, but they’re not. They want him back. They’re waiting for him to open the door. 

And he’s hurting them.

He’d miss them, if he stayed here. Trapped in his head. Because he loves them, he does, and he would hate to see where he’d be without them. (He knows where he’d be. The first iteration was enough.) 

San never wanted to die, not really. 

But now… now, he wants to  _ live. _

* * *

When San falls, the world stops. 

Or at least, that’s what it feels like.

Yeosang jolts, but not fast enough, trying to barrel forward to catch him but he’s still injured—his ankle’s bent funny and it’ll barely support his weight. Wooyoung’s hand grips his shoulder, keeps him up, but no one’s keeping San up and he and Hongjoong were high in the air—and he’s still falling. 

Yeosang can’t breathe.  _ “Lift,” _ he says, pushes every inch of magic scraps he has left over into the word, urging every force that’ll cooperate with him to  _ make it work _ despite the magical exhaustion he’s feeling and will be feeling for days. 

And it works.

Hongjoong takes it from there, kick-started into motion by the realization that the fight’s over. He lowers San to the ground and Yeosang releases his spell. 

San groans. They all tense, weak and barely-there magic building between them, but he pushes himself up to his elbows and blood trickles from his mouth and his aura’s… it’s mostly back to normal. 

Mostly.

_ His— _

I know.

Yeosang wishes he had a way to soothe Jongho’s agitation.

San holds up the necklace. It’s a mottled mess, his hands must’ve heated to well past the melting point of iron to get it off him. “She’s always had horrible taste,” he says. He follows it with a cough that sends out droplets of blood.

“That’s not funny,” Wooyoung says, and he’s struggling to keep hysteria from his voice. “Choi San, you are the worst comedian.”

“I think I’m decent, actually,” he says back. 

Yeosang snorts. “Are you?”

_ Tell them I would give him his jokes in college. Yeosang. Yeosang tell them. He stole my humor. Yeosang. Hey, Yeosang.  _

“Hey.” Hongjoong claps his hands sharply. “I know we’re all a little traumatized, and humor’s your best coping mechanism, but can we please take a moment to assess?”

Hongjoong’s right. Their fight might be over, but the repercussions are there, and the rest of the town is still out there risking their lives. 

“Ankle,” Yeosang reports first. 

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung says. “I finished healing.”

Yunho’s largely unharmed except a few scrapes. Wooyoung heals Mingi’s injuries because he has too many to be healthy, for a human, despite trying to stay out of the direct battle. Seonghwa somehow came out the other end completely fine, and Hongjoong’s battered but okay.

_ Tell them I’m completely unharmed, _ Jongho says. 

I don’t think that’s appropriate humor.

_ It’ll be fine. _

No.

_ Spoilsport. _

All of them are magically drained to the point where they can barely push a leaf. Wooyoung had a little more, but he used most of his remaining energy to heal Mingi. 

And then there’s San. 

Not a hair out of place, even with the fall. He’s still bleeding somewhere, internally, and if Yeosang tries really hard he can see the magic inside him pulsing still. Unstable. Precariously balancing on a line between under and over. But even still, he stands, a little shaky but mostly okay, and says, softly, “Thank you. You could’ve killed me but you didn’t. So. Thank you.”

“We knew you were in there,” Hongjoong says, clapping him on the back. He doesn’t even stumble. “We weren’t about to leave you behind.”

“I propose a team name,” Mingi says suddenly. “I think it could be good for us, for morale, y’know?”

“Mingi I swear to god—”

But Mingi talks right over Hongjoong like he wasn’t speaking at all. “I’m thinking, like,  _ the Fellaz. _ Could be fun. Funky.” 

Wooyoung’s grip on Yeosang’s arm tightens. He can see what Yeosang can, Yeosang knows. Yunho shifts a little as well, as if to pull Mingi back, and Hongjoong just looks down at his feet like he doesn’t know what to say.

“We could have a chant,” San says, teasing. He smiles, but he smiles like it hurts. Like the pain of it is yanking at every synapse in his brain. 

“Seven makes one team,” Yunho says. 

_ Eight! _

“Eight,” Yeosang corrects. 

“Right. Eight makes one team!” 

It’s cute. 

Yeosang only kind of hates it. 

Mingi insists they do a whole thing—hands in, etc etc. They do it, of course, because why not? (Jongho does it too, yelling like they’ll hear him if he’s loud enough.) And Yeosang finds himself smiling. Relief, but also because he’s happy. With these people—circumstances aside—he’s the happiest he’s been and will ever be. 

His smile falters soon enough when he makes eye contact with San.

“We can’t stay here,” San says, glancing over in the direction of the Choi house. “They—they’re still there. They’re probably going to run now that I’m not under their control.”

“Did they talk about contingencies?” Hongjoong asks. 

San’s already shaking his head. “The one situation that required a contingency was me slipping their control, and they’re smart. They kept that plan out of my hearing.”

They could go. They could all go. But Hongjoong won’t be much help, at this point, and Yunho, as unharmed as he is, looks like he’s about to fall over. Seonghwa and Mingi are human. 

“I’m coming with you,” Yeosang says. 

Wooyoung nods. “Me too.”

San frowns. “You’re both—”

Yeosang brings his hands together, lights up the air around him in a useless display that takes virtually no power. “I’m fine.” He’s not fine. “If Wooyoung gets five more minutes in the water he can recharge enough to heal my ankle.”

“But can’t you do that yourself?” San asks.

And oh, he feels the loss. Like a fucking limb. “No,” he says, even though it pains him. “I’m human.”

Wooyoung makes a noise like a wounded animal. San sucks a breath in through his teeth. “You’re… what? How?”

“I gave up my tail,” Yeosang says, smiling grimly. “An even trade for enough magic to keep you occupied while you fought off the mind spell.”

San’s expression crumples. “Yeosang—”

“It’s not your fault,” Yeosang says. “It was  _ my _ decision. Don’t take that from me. Besides, I still have magic,”—barely—“And I can still fight.”

“I’ll heal you,” Wooyoung promises. “First thing I do.”

“So five minutes in open water,” Yeosang repeats. “Five minutes and we’ll be good to go.” 

“You really shouldn’t face them alone,” Hongjoong tells San. 

San frowns, harder, then nods. “Okay. Fine. Five minutes.”

Yeosang hopes those five minutes are enough. 

* * *

Wooyoung glomps San the moment he reemerges, delighting in the disgusted noises San makes when he has to pull seaweed out of his hair, then the pout when he realizes that Wooyoung has  _ soaked  _ him with ocean water. 

Yeosang had dangled his feet over the edge, maybe hoping just a bit that it would work, but it did nothing. As he expected.

He tries not to be too crushed, looking away when Wooyoung heals him. 

“Okay,” Yeosang says, standing. He hesitates, then turns to San and opens his arms.

San falls into them gladly. 

“I’m…” He doesn’t say sorry even though it sounds like he wants to. He just breathes, instead, melting a bit when Yeosang drags his nails over the nape of his neck. Yeosang’s glad he doesn’t apologize, because then he’d have to explain why, exactly, he can’t accept it. 

It’s not San’s apology to make. None of what he did was his fault. He was embedded in a conspiracy and a cult from birth, and the moment he could he tried to separate himself. He did what he thought would be best and for the most part it worked. 

“I remember,” he says, breath warm on Yeosang’s skin. “I remember everything.”

The words have a weight that Yeosang only barely understands, visions of a much more frantic San making a reappearance. How awkward they’d been, how they’d even disliked each other at first. Falling, then. Becoming friends, becoming familiar. The pull, later on, becoming magnetic. Intriguing. 

He remembers how San’s lips feel against his skin.

He doesn’t remember everything, but he remembers enough.

* * *

It feels too fast, is all Yeosang can think as he follows San into the house. They’d broken all the protective wards easily. Nothing stopped them on the path from the gate. Everything was quiet. 

“She’s gone.” 

They turn to look as one, and in the corner stands Kyuwon, arms crossed and smug. 

“I’ll find her,” San says, stepping forward. It’s probably supposed to be threatening, but Yeosang knows better. He wonders if Kyuwon can see San’s aura, because he just laughs. 

“Of course you will. Eventually.” 

It’s not in any way a grand reunion. Yeosang imagines that already happened, when he was busy in the cellar and San was getting cornered. But it’s, maybe, needed. 

“You turned me into an experiment,” San says, stepping closer still. “Like a fucking school science fair. Without regard to me or my life.”

“What else are children good for?” Kyuwon asks. It seems to be a serious question. Yeosang wants so badly to deck him and from the look on Wooyoung’s face he does too, but they stay back. Waiting. 

This is San’s fight. 

“Did you ever love me?”

“Yes,” Kyuwon says. “We both loved you. We both still love you.”

But there’s something different about the way he says it, and San hears that. 

“You can love flowers,” he says. “But loving flowers usually means picking them. Keeping bouquets. Putting them in vases with water and waiting for them to die, just so you can have them. That’s love. But that’s not healthy love.” He gestures wildly. “You love me because you think I’m yours, but I’m  _ not. _ I’m myself, and I choose my own path.” He looks back, for just a second, like he’s worried Yeosang and Wooyoung have walked away. “I choose them.”

It’s not a powerful statement, by any means. They all already know that. Still. It sends a rush of warmth through Yeosang to hear him say it to his father’s face. 

“And what do you intend to do about it?” Kyuwon asks, mocking. “You don’t have it in you to kill me.”

“I don’t,” San agrees. “But we’ve all done unfathomable things today.”

Yeosang makes an aborted move to stop him, but San’s already standing in front of Kyuwon, not even savoring the shocked expression on his face before placing a finger on his forehead, and Yeosang can see the patchwork magic siphon out of him and into San, who shudders at the feeling. 

_ Why did he do that,  _ Jongho moans, dismayed. 

It’s effective, Yeosang can’t deny. San takes the magic, and takes, and takes, until he’s taking energy instead of magic, until he’s taking life; until he can’t take anymore. He’s shaking, when his hand drops. 

Wooyoung hisses quietly. “He’s—”

“Yeah.”

Kyuwon holds onto the last threads of his life long enough to grab San’s wrist. “We’ll get it better next time,” He says, with his dying breath. He smiles. It’s not maniacal. Yeosang would’ve felt better if it was. “We’ll take out the unnecessary parts. The  _ emotions.  _ We won’t make these mistakes again.”

“Who the hell is ‘we’,” San says. “You’re not gonna be around to see jack shit.”

Kyuwon’s fingers go slack.

Wooyoung inclines his head to San, respectfully. “I’m gonna go torch a bunch of your family’s shit,” he says. “I’ll let you know if the house catches fire.” And then he heads off to do just that.

_ Wish that were me. _

You’ll get your chance.

_ Mm. Will I…?  _

San blinks down at his father’s body before stumbling towards the door. “I can’t—I’ll—I need to get out—”

Yeosang helps him out the door, steadying him as he speed walks towards the cliff. 

_ You know where this is going, right? _

I know.

_ Yeosang… _

I know. I know.

San sits on one of the rocks. It’s not precarious enough that Yeosang’s worried—it’s honestly pretty safe—but still. San looks out towards the water a little too longingly. Yeosang wonders if this is how San felt watching him, when he’d watch the waves with an ache for home. 

“He’s dead,” San whispers. The words boom, for all their quiet delivery.  _ He’s dead. _

More people like him will come. People like him already exist, even—and Dahye’s still out there, somewhere—but San doesn’t need to hear that. 

Yeosang’s own relationship with family was always complicated. He… never really had parents—Changbin and Wooyoung and Yeonjun were more brothers than anything—wasn’t close with anyone like San was his own parents, however briefly. He doesn’t really have the understanding San needs. 

_ He doesn’t need understanding, dumbass. He needs a hug. _

Or maybe Jongho’s right.

_ I always am. _

Yeosang wraps his arms around San’s shoulders, pausing a moment to check that it’s okay—San nods—and pulls so they’re closer together. San shudders for a moment, but it ends just before Yeosang can comment. 

It’s quiet, aside from the sound of the waves. Just the two of them, and the sea.

“Can I kiss you?” San asks. It’s quiet. Yeosang hadn’t expected him to pull up the nerve to ask at all, actually. 

“Yeah,” he says. There’s all sorts of things they would need to talk about, fully talk about, before a real relationship. But they can have this. Just this, just between them (and Jongho), right here, right now. 

And San smiles, quiet and relieved and all parts exhausted. Tired of playing his family’s games, tired of running circles, tired tired tired. 

The sun paints the sky pink as they meet in the middle, and fire dances at the edge of San’s hands as his new control breaks, and he melts. Yeosang can only hold him. Cup his hands to keep him from spilling, pull him close to keep him here, in this moment. They breathe together, in the rhythm of the sea.

Yeosang can feel San’s magic pull at the edges of his. He’s not sure San knows what he’s doing, so he resists, but he yearns for that feeling, the feeling of being more than a whole—of being a system of two stars, revolving around each other. He’s only heard stories about it. But he wants. He  _ wants. _

They break apart, but still clutch each other close. There’s tears on San’s cheeks, and his breaths are wet.

“I’m dying,” San chokes out into the silence. 

His nose is bleeding again, his eyes are red-rimmed—though from crying or from the magic, Yeosang doesn’t know. He’s shaking, still. His skin is red-hot. 

“I know.” Yeosang could tell, from the moment San broke his mother’s control. His aura’s still shot through with white. A different white. A sicker white. “I’m sorry.” 

“No.” San shakes his head. “I don’t need… pity.”

“Not pity.” Yeosang pulls him tighter, closes his eyes. If he could help, he would. But the tangle of magic is too much. San has too much power. It’s eating away at his body, and soon he’ll, for lack of a better word, implode. There’s no safe way to siphon that power. Even if Yeosang could, if he moved it anywhere, it would  _ ex _ plode, taking both of them with it.

So he hopes, in the end, that he can provide San comfort. Comfort that Jongho didn’t get, comfort that maybe San hadn’t expected. From what he’s said of his life… Yeosang doesn’t doubt San expected to die alone. Lonely. Quiet. Not a peep in the universe, not a tear shed. 

Maybe he wants quiet, Yeosang doesn’t know. But he doesn’t think he never wanted to be alone. 

_ I can take it. _

What?

“Thank you,” San says into his shoulder. “For everything. You deserved better.”

_ I can take the magic. _

What are you saying?

“I wish I could—” San’s shaking again, hyperventilating. Yeosang runs his hand through his hair, hoping it’ll calm him even slightly. “Really thank you, really show you how much—how much better my life was because—you were—”

_ I can safely transfer the magic from his body to my soul. It’ll eat me out of existence instead of him. You know me—I can handle it. I’ve done large raw magic transfers before. I can do it. He doesn’t need to die. _

“I’ll miss you, I think,” San says. He lets out a quiet sob, failing to choke it back. “It hurts so much… the  _ burning… _ ” 

_ He doesn’t need to die. _

“San,” Yeosang whispers. “I think—” He doesn’t want to get San’s hopes up. If it fails, then… but. “Let me try—” 

_ I’m already dead, Yeosang. I’m ready to move on. I need to move on. Let me do this. _

I love you, Yeosang tells Jongho. If this is goodbye… He presses a hand to San’s neck, gets ready to reject Jongho’s presence in his body. He’s human, now, so the ritual bond that connects them is dull, inactive. Hopefully that means the magic won’t travel down that line and eat him, too. It’ll work. Jongho knows what he can handle. It’ll work.

“Yeosang…?”

“I love you,” he says, aloud, to San. 

_ You’ve mourned me already. You don’t need to do that again. _

I’ll tell them what you did.

Yeosang breathes in, keeps an arm around San even as he starts to struggle. “Yeosang  _ what are you doing.” _

_ I’m ready. _

Do it. 

_...Tell San that I’m proud of him. Okay? I’m proud of him and I love him. _

It’s a flash. Jongho takes over. Jongho says the words to draw out the magic, taking both of their reserves to do it, yanking,  _ yanking, YANKING  _ until San is SCREAMING and Yeosang is screaming, too, because he feels the burn. He feels the hunger of the magic rushing down the connection and the minute it touches Jongho’s essence he reaches out, grabs hold of the hook Jongho has in his soul, and  _ wrenches  _ it out. 

The magic screams. 

Jongho does, too. Yeosang can hear it, and San can, too, if the increasingly panicked struggling is any indication. 

“Wait,” Yeosang rasps, throat completely shot.  _ “Wait.” _

The screaming cuts off, abruptly. And Yeosang slumps into San, and San’s arms come up to hold him automatically. “What—what the hell did—”

“Jongho,” Yeosang says, and the loss  _ hits _ him, wrenching a noise from his throat he wasn’t even aware he could make. 

“Jongho took the magic?” San’s back to shaking. 

“He wanted—he said to tell you he’s proud of you. He’s proud of you and he loves—”

And then they’re both crying, holding each other because it’s the only thing they  _ can _ do. Neither of them find the will to move until the sun is far below the horizon, and the temperature’s dropped significantly. That’s where Wooyoung finds them, huddled together against the cold, tears freezing on their faces and tips of their fingers going numb. 

He knows, just by one look. He knows. 

“I’m alive,” San whispers to himself, fingers intertwined with Yeosang’s in the dark. (For warmth, they insist. Wooyoung raises an eyebrow and doesn’t comment.) “I’m  _ alive.” _

“You’re alive,” Yeosang says, and they stumble together, the three of them, back to meet the others at Cap’s. None of them are willing to stay at the Choi house any longer than they have to.

And none of them look back when it burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok bc this is technically a plot hole without me saying it: wooyoung showed yeosang the catalina music video while they were in america for the like .5 seconds san was talking to jae. 
> 
> because wooyoung obviously has his priorities straight. lolol
> 
> anyway  
> can't believe we're finally here  
> one more chapter!  
> its been a wild ride


	18. yeosang + epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone begins to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to all of you who read and supported along the way <3 <3 i really really appreciate all the comments, you guys make my day sometimes hehe
> 
> i do have sequel plans but we'll see how that goes lmaooooo... 
> 
> thanks again, and happy new yearrr!! <3 <3
> 
> (ten thousand won is about 9 usd)

The main battle’s over by the time they reach them. Han’s on the ground, frowning down at a body, but he looks up when they approach. “Congrats.”

“Thanks, I think,” San says drily. Yeosang snorts.

“Oh, I meant—” he waves at their hands, which are still intertwined. “But like, congrats on throwing off the mind control, too, I guess.”

“They’re just keeping warm,” Wooyoung pipes up helpfully. 

“Wait, seriously?” Han groans. “Come on, guys. I bet Seonghwa, like, ten thousand won you’d figure it out by the end of the final battle.” He kicks at the ground and pouts. “He already got the iteration number right. This is why you don’t bet against Time…”

“I think you can afford to lose ten thousand,” Yeosang says, graciously ignoring most of what he just said. San squeezes his hand, muffling laughter into Yeosang’s shoulder. “You knew about the iterating?”

Han throws his arms up. “Yeah, okay, it’s the principle of the thing. And yes. Tangentially. I was peripherally aware, sort of. Sometimes. It doesn’t matter.” He waves them off. “Battle’s over, I’m guessing they retreated when San came back into awareness. And we were right—there were a few others augmented like you,” he says to San. “Not as powerful, but still definitely augmented.”

It’s not news to take lightly, but they’re tired, so once they update him Han points them in Hongjoong and Co’s direction and they stumble over until they find them to let them know they’re alive, before barely dragging themselves to Wooyoung and Yunho’s house where they crash on his couch and say hello to a frantic Byeol and don’t wake up til the morning.

* * *

In the end, they scatter.

San and Wooyoung go back to America, to check on Eric and the kids and get a map of connected schools from them. And from there, it’s a hunt. Ironically enough. They find the schools and infiltrate them and take them down. They work well together. They grow closer. They’ve taken down enough of the schools and even non-school operations that hunters are beginning to fear them. And it works for both of them, with their guilt and anger respectively. They’re doing something good. They’re _helping._

Yeosang and Hongjoong go on a road trip up and down the peninsula. It’s nice to leave Haven, and they talk, quietly, about the universe and other existential shit, and about Yeosang’s time in the cellar, because out of everyone they know, only Hongjoong will even come close to understanding. It’s good. It helps. Yeosang gets used to the ache in his soul when he looks at the sea, and he gets used to the... let's just say, peculiar features... of his new magic. Hongjoong seems to get lighter, as they drive, less tense and weighed down by responsibility. For once, he isn’t worrying about hunters and Haven. They’re just two normal people, on a road trip.

Mingi and Yunho and Seonghwa move to Seoul. it’s an interesting choice, because in Yeosang’s opinion there’s more of a risk in Seoul than Haven, but to each their own. They take over as temporary guardians of San’s sister while he’s on his warpath through the states—and she thinks they’re _awesome_ , which is good—and start up another location for Cap’s. Hongjoong and Yeosang visit, when they stop by Seoul. San’s sister gives Yeosang the shotgun talk, even though she is both younger than them and not San’s parent, and he and San aren’t even dating. He’s amused, in any case, and if he had a phone he’d tell San about it. And yes. Yeosang gets Cap’s’ chicken.

His lack of a phone probably contributes the most to how little he and San have talked. They didn’t even speak of what happened before they all left, too caught up in other logistical things.

Yeosang misses him.

A lot.

None of them visit Haven until a year’s passed. The wound is too fresh, in a sense. Which is strange, because all of them have known he’s dead for years. But the notion of visiting… 

They go in October. 

It’s Hongjoong that manages to find them, and call them back, so they’re here, all seven of them, gathered in Cap’s.

Han grins at them as he sets their plates down. “Long time no see.”

He’d taken over the diner, at Hongjoong’s request. He still has his other store, so Chan and Changbin help him out around both, but he seems to enjoy it. 

“You look happy,” Yeosang says. 

Han shrugs a shoulder. “Life goes on.” And he waves, and walks away. 

It’s nice, the seven of them being together. Having everyone in one place is strange. Nice, but strange. And there’s a gaping hole in Yeosang’s chest as he laughs with them, and soon he has to step out. 

“Hey.”

Yeosang knows, without turning, that it’s San. “Hey.” 

San kicks off his shoes and sits down next to him, dangling his feet in the water as well. “Too much?”

Yeosang shrugs. “It’s just… I feel him missing. You know?”

“Yeah.” San splashes a little. “I know.”

Even after all this time, it’s comfortable with him. Yeosang exhales through his teeth. “So how’s the hunt going?”

San laughs. “Uh, it’s… going. We took out most of the network. I think the survivors are going after the rest. Not much to do there, anymore.” He shrugs. “I think Wooyoung wants to come back home, anyway. Being away for a while did some good, but it’s time to come back. How about you? Road tripping?”

“Yeah, Hongjoong’s great, but I’ll probably go crazy if I have to spend another month with him.”

“Thinking of settling?”

“Yeah.”

San hums. Pleased, maybe. “I’m thinking of getting an apartment in Seoul. Maybe getting that degree I abandoned. I have the money for it, with the…” Right. Yeosang had forgotten. There was that big legal battle that San had gone through right after everything went down to get full access to his inheritance, after his grandfather cried fraud. “Wooyoung and I were considering living together. We could get a three bedroom, if you wanted to live with us.”

“That’d be nice,” Yeosang says. Because it would be.

“We should go see a movie. Have you seen a movie yet? In theaters?” San asks, smiling so, so widely. Yeosang wants to poke his dimple. 

“I haven’t.”

“Then we need to go! Just the two of us.”

“It’s a date,” Yeosang says, because he’s apparently lost his mind. 

San startles a little, and Yeosang’s worried for a second, but then his smile makes a reappearance, brighter than before, and Yeosang reaches over for his hand. “I’d like that.”

And Yeosang smiles back, and San squeezes his hand, and intertwines their fingers, and when they stand to go back to rejoin the others, Yeosang feels just a little bit less empty. 

* * *

The gates are overgrown again.

“To think,” San says sidelong to Mingi, “We spent all that time making them operational.”

The cold iron doesn’t affect mer as badly as it affects fae and spirits, so Wooyoung and Yeosang pitch in to help, the five of them (Seonghwa included—San had told Yeosang about the conversation they’d had in San’s head, if it _was_ actually Seonghwa and not a Seonghwa-shaped Jiminy Cricket, and honestly Yeosang’s not brave enough to ask him what the hell he is to his face, Hongjoong seems happy with him even despite the recent long-distance and that’s enough for Yeosang. He hasn’t ever seen anyone fool Hongjoong) pushing as hard as they can. Luckily, they’re only dealing with a year’s worth of (albeit magical) overgrowth, instead of thirteen years’ worth, so they have an easier time of it than San and Mingi had, even without the tools. Yunho cheers them on and Hongjoong just looks exasperatedly fond. 

They leave the gate open. No use closing off the property, anymore. 

The clearing is still a clearing, despite most of the paths being covered. There’s a lot more growth, but it’s very clear it’s something. The cross was removed, and with it its malicious intent, and the faerie ring is broken (it had taken Hongjoong, Han, Chan, and Hyunjin to get it done, from what Yeosang heard). In place of the cross is a sapling.

“Is that a fucking apple tree,” Wooyoung whispers hoarsely. 

It is. Yeosang doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. 

If Hongjoong was any other fae, he’d probably launch into a spiel about conservation of energy and the balance between nature and life and death (Yeosang’s heard it from Changbin’s friends _too many_ times and Minho will actually start in on a literal physics symposium if no one stops him), but he’s not, so instead Hongjoong nods solemnly and says, “It’s what Jongho would want.”

“I thought he hated apples,” Yunho says. “He ripped them apart with his bare hands. That’s not something you do to something you love.”

“He sang to them as he did it,” Yeosang points out. “ _That’s_ love.”

“I hate this entire conversation,” Wooyoung says drily. But he doesn’t protest further, and Yeosang knows he doesn’t mean it. 

None of them question if Jongho asked for it—they know Hongjoong wouldn’t have encouraged the growth if he hadn’t. They stand in silence, watching. The leaves seem to rustle, but that could just be the natural wind.

Mingi takes the opportunity to step up to the grave. “I didn’t know you well. But in the few days I was able to talk to you, you seemed like a really great guy. I wish you’d gotten to live a full life. The world probably would’ve been a better place, with you in it.”

Seonghwa inclines his head at the tree, seemingly listening to something. “I will.” He doesn’t say anything more. 

Yunho waits a moment, but when Seonghwa makes no more move to speak, he places a small pouch at the base of the tree. “To a safe journey,” he whispers, and bows his head for a moment. He’s standing in a way that blocks Yeosang’s view of the tree, but he knows even before Yunho moves back that the pouch will be gone. Yunho’s a kind of spirit, after all. Out of all of them except maybe Seonghwa, he’s the most able to reach Jongho, wherever he is.

Hongjoong doesn’t speak at all. He flickers with energy for a moment, but then powers down like a lightbulb burning out, and takes a step back. He gestures for them to give the other three space.

“Take your time,” Hongjoong says, lingering for a moment even as the others start the trek back to the gate. “We’ll wait for you. However long you need.”

None of them speak. It doesn’t feel… right. 

“I miss him,” San says suddenly. He’s frowning at the ground, has a look on his face that Yeosang recognizes as his repressing-the-tears face. “I didn’t really have much time with him, not like you guys, but… I miss him.”

“I get it,” Wooyoung says. 

San nods, and they stand, the three of them, in near silent camaraderie. 

Yeosang wonders what he would say to Jongho if he was here. The problem with this kind of goodbye, the moving on from limbo goodbye rather than the actual-death goodbye, is that Yeosang already mourned Jongho’s death. He mourned for _years,_ because he sat in that basement for enough time that eventually that’s all he could think about. Jongho’s death. What happened to the others. Why he was abandoned, after years of torture. Even after San visited, as a kid, he would only think of Jongho.

And no, he wasn’t _in_ love with him. Even if he hadn’t gotten taken, Yeosang doubts that would have changed. But does that matter? He still held and holds a lot of love, regardless of what kind of love it was. He loved Jongho. He still loves Jongho.

But Yeosang’s mourned enough. Jongho berated him for that, anyway. He wouldn’t want him to mope around anymore, now that he’s able to move around and go where he wants. 

San walks up to the tree. Like Yunho, he places something on the ground, but it remains when he stands. It’s a piece of paper, Yeosang thinks. A picture maybe? As San steps back an apple falls on his head and he catches it instinctively. “Thanks,” he says, and pauses at the part of the forest where the others disappeared to. 

Wooyoung joins him. “Take your time,” he says, echoing Hongjoong. The two of them step out of the clearing and make their way to the gate. 

“It’s just you and me, huh?” Yeosang says. 

Part of him wishes Jongho would pop back up, say goodbye for real. But they’ve had plenty of time for that, and he knows how much it was paining him to stay, to talk to people, when he knew he should’ve been moving on. The dead don’t belong in the land of the living. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish. He takes very few opportunities to be selfish, and Jongho will always be one of them. 

The tree means he’s gone, anyway. Dispersed into the world again. Usually human souls will return to the Afterlife, go through a process, and return to earth as infants. It’s a cycle—always reusing human energy. Fae, on the other hand, become pieces of nature, like a bush, or a flower, or an apple tree. Yeosang hadn’t thought Jongho’s fae blood would be strong enough to overpower the human, but it seems he was wrong. Because the tree is unmistakably him. 

The picture San left is a polaroid, an old one. Yeosang smiles when he sees it, because Jongho told him he threw it away—Yeosang had insisted, saying he was making a weird face, and Jongho had faked tossing it into the ocean. Yeosang had looked for it, while he was stuck in that house, to no avail.

 _To remember,_ San had written on the bottom. 

Yeosang and Jongho are laughing together, Jongho trying to catch Yeosang cos he’d stolen something—film for his nice, expensive camera, if Yeosang remembers correctly. Wooyoung had waved the thing smugly at them because they hadn’t even noticed him taking it. Jongho snatched it first, looked at it, and had an unbearably fond look on his face for the rest of the day. It was a good day. One of their last good days. 

Yeosang’s glad he saved it. 

“To remember,” he agrees, and hovers his hand over the thing. 

San had (probably accidentally) imbued enough fae magic that it should follow Jongho, wherever he ends up. 

“I’d love to meet you again, but I hope we don’t,” he tells the tree. “You don’t deserve to get mixed up in the pain of this world twice. I overheard Hongjoong and Chan talking about Haven, and what will happen now. They’re thinking of opening it up. Letting people in. Normal people. Hongjoong’s speeding up the growth on this property, so the place’ll get overrun and nobody will be able to live here, anymore.” He shudders even thinking about it. “If the land becomes hostile to non-flora, I probably won’t be able to visit again. But that’s okay. You told me to move on, right?”

No response. Yeosang bows his head, knows that a human mage’s word isn’t taken as heavily as a fae’s or a spirit’s or (probably) Seonghwa’s, but blesses the tree anyway. 

“I’m happy now,” he says, as he’s stepping out of the clearing. He doesn’t look back, thinks that if he does, he’ll just end up lingering for even longer until minutes turn to hours turn to days. “And I’d like to think that at the end, you were happy too.”

_epilogue._

_Seoul, South Korea._

He’s out of breath. He’s running out of steam and he’s not going to _make_ it but he has to keep running.

“Come back here, kiddo!”

_Shit._

That’s too close. He needs to go faster. 

He dodges a trash can, a person who looks at him like he’s committed a crime, and several trees, ducking into an alley to get through quicker and coming out the other side disoriented. He keeps running, because he can’t stop, because if he stops they’ll catch him. 

He sees an open door, sees a flash of a neon sign, and with most of the places he passed he just, well, passed, because the adults will think that he’s running away or he’s done something wrong, but with this one… he can’t explain it. But he makes that split second decision and ducks in and to his surprise, it’s nearly empty. Checkerboard floor and soft orange walls and a man by the register who looks up at him, half asleep, droning, “we’re just about to close,” before he stops and just. Stares.

_Is there something on my face?_

“Please,” he gasps, still out of breath and wishing he spent as much time on track as he did on basketball, “I need to hide.”

The man nods and opens the little gate, which really provides no security, but he ducks behind the bar and stays crouched as the bell above the door rings.

Heavy footsteps. “Have you seen a kid run by? Red hair, about this tall, wearing the local high school uniform?”

“No,” the man at the register says, decidedly more unfriendly than he was with him. “Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

The footsteps head to the door. He’s about to stand, but a hand on his shoulder keeps him down. “If that’s all…?”

The bell rings, and the door slams shut. The hand remains on his shoulder for a moment before he’s let up. 

“Thank you,” he says, wishing he had his phone or his wallet or _anything_ to really show gratitude. “Thank you so much, I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do…” 

“Hey,” the man says kindly. “It’s okay. You can always come here if you need to, Jongho.”

Jongho thanks him again, still frazzled, and leaves as quick as he can. It’s not until he gets home and lies down in bed and actually thinks about what happened that he realizes—

_How the hell did the man know his name?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... abt the sequel... how do we feel about wooho? jongyoung...? jongho/wooyoung. whatever their shipname is. lol woohoo

**Author's Note:**

> if i missed a tag or cw let me know
> 
> please talk to me in the comments, remote learning is lonely :<
> 
> full list of non ateez idol cameos:  
> skz - han jisung, chan, changbin, hyunjin  
> itzy - lia, txt - yeonjun  
> twice - tzuyu, wayv/nct - yangyang (ft louis)  
> eric nam, jamie park, day6 - jae, kard - bm, ladies code - ashley  
> aleXa, jessi  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/drizzlyslimecat) if you want to be friends or whatever uwu i dont actually use it often rn but


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